


End Without Sorrow

by aerlinniel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cynicism, F/M, First War with Voldemort, Grey Harry, M/M, Marauders' Era, Moral Ambiguity, Moral Dilemmas, Politics, Powerful Harry, Professor Tom, Sane Voldemort, Seer Harry, Slow Build, Slow Romance, Slytherin Harry, Smart Harry, Tragedy, Wizarding Wars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2018-10-08 11:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 123,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10385757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerlinniel/pseuds/aerlinniel
Summary: He is the first seer the Potter family has ever had, but is it really as much of a blessing as it appears? Harry knows he has a chance prevent the horrors of the First Wizarding War from ever happening and set things right. Things don't go quite as planned, however, and Harry instead finds himself being part of a larger game with hidden rules. A jaded, darker, bitter, and tired pawn that is trying to survive the war that looms.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "On reaching the end be without sorrow"  
> -Delphic Maxims

The waiting room was expensive and elegant, more so than anything Harry had ever had the chance to see. He was sitting on a dark leather sofa facing a huge marble fireplace, his hands clenched on his lap as he tried to keep himself from fidgeting. 

He  knew had never been here before, as the loud complaints his twin, James Potter, showed. No, their mother had somehow managed to get them to go with their father to a meeting with Abraxas Malfoy, all in the spirit of learning how business was usually conducted. They had even had to leave a half-finished game of gobstones behind, and it had only been Euphemia Potter’s no-nonsense tone of voice that had made it glaringly clear that their strange trip wasn’t up for discussion. Even if neither of them knew or liked Lucius Malfoy — the other had always been too old and they had never really met him.

“It’ll be a good experience for both of you,” was what their father had said. But no words coming from the usually lenient Fleamont Potter had managed to stop him or James from complaining. 

James still was even now, but Harry had stopped the minute he had seen the manor. 

They had never been here before — Harry at least knew he certainly hadn’t — but he still could recognise the building that they had entered, interior included. 

He had always known that his dreams weren’t exactly normal, though he had never thought much about them. They had always seemed strangely real and vivid, especially when comparing to the ones he knew James had, but he had never really bothered thinking about them. However, Harry was sure that he shouldn’t have been able to recognise the centre piece of decoration atop the marble fireplace in the Malfoy’s waiting room. Yet there it was, and Harry didn’t know what to think about it. All of the rest of the objects were exactly as he remembered, too, even the mirror despite the intricate snake design on its borders.

It wasn’t _normal_. 

It had made him forget completely about any complaints he had said aloud on their way there through the floo network — why was that old photograph exactly the same as what he had seen in his dreams? 

The people in it were even standing in the same positions, and Harry could even remember what the supposed story behind it was, too, along with the names of the photograph’s occupants. Abraxas Malfoy, with short and distinctive blond hair, posing together with a group of his friends from Slytherin — Mulciber, Avery, Lestrange, and a sullen-looking one he was sure was called Tom Riddle. It had been taken in their fifth year at Hogwarts, when a wolf some student had been illegally keeping had attacked a student… or had it been a basilisk? Harry couldn’t really remember the details, he hadn’t bothered noting down the dream. 

Yet there it was, defiantly looking exactly the same as what he had seen in his dream, and Harry didn’t know what to make of it. Were things supposed to be the same as in dreams? Of course, not everything was the same only the furniture — the people he had seen talking whilst looking at the picture were nowhere to be seen, and, to top it off, it was also daytime. He knew the fireplace had been the only thing lighting the room when he had dreamt of this. 

Dreams weren’t supposed to be like this, or were they? Should Harry ask his father about it? He knew James wouldn’t believe him, that was for sure. He’d just accuse him of lying. 

The door to the waiting room suddenly opened, and Harry felt his father suddenly get up and stand. 

“Abraxas,” he greeted, bowing politely and with a slight smile on his lips. 

“Fleamont, it’s a pleasure to see you here,” a tall, blond man said with a similarly polite bow and smile. “I trust you didn’t have to wait for too long?”

Harry’s father laughed and shook his head, “not at all, we just barely arrived.” 

He then turned to Harry and James, gesturing at them. “These are my sons - James and Harry. I thought it would be best if they accompanied me today to see how business is often conducted.” Harry immediately copied the bow his father had given the man, and James followed soon afterwards. 

Abraxas nodded, smiling slightly and bowing again “the sooner one can introduce our children to the ways of society, the better.” He was wearing a golden ring, Harry noticed, one he could again recognise. 

Fleamont kept his smile firmly in place. “Shall we get started then? I believe we were about to reach an agreement on the price for my company and the rights to the Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion.”

“Of course,” Abraxas replied. “If you would follow me, Fleamont. Agreeing on the final terms shouldn’t be too hard, I’m sure. Should I tell Lucius to come meet your sons?”

Harry knew he shouldn’t interrupt the conversation between the two men, especially not when they were about to decide what James and him would be doing whilst they were finishing an agreement, but he couldn’t get the strange photograph out of his head. However, he knew it could very well be his only chance, and he really didn’t want to spend the next weeks wondering about why the photograph he had seen in his dreams existed and was there at all. 

Harry gulped and clenched his left hand. He then straightened his back in the same way he had seen his father do whenever he was about to meet an important client or business partner, and looked straight at Abraxas. 

“Mr. Malfoy, sir,” he said, trying to not sound as nervous as he felt. He wasn’t sure his father would like the interruption or the strange question. “If it’s okay to ask, is that photograph, the one on the fireplace, from your fifth year at Hogwarts?” 

His father was about to protest and tell him off for asking the strange question when Abraxas, looking as surprised as someone could be, replied. 

“It is, in fact,” he said, staring right at Harry. He then moved to get the picture, and a soft look appeared briefly in his eyes as he looked at it. “Why do you ask?”

Harry looked to a side, suddenly nervous. He wasn’t sure he would be able to hold the man’s curious and intent gaze. “A basilisk or a wolf, I can’t remember, attacked some students at Hogwarts that year too, right?” Harry continued, ignoring the man’s question, excited that the man had confirmed what he had dreamed. 

Abraxas Malfoy pursed his lips, “it was a wolf cub, yes. A student, Hagrid, if I remember correctly, brought it into the school that year, and it attacked a friend of mine” He then frowned, and Harry knew he definitely shouldn’t have been supposed to know about that. 

Harry grinned, excited. “Oh! I remember, Avery, right? He managed to recover, though. He was saying that whilst you were all looking at the picture frame with everyone in the picture — Mulciber, Lestrange… Someone mentioned something about a basilisk too, but I can’t remember who.” 

Nothing, not a word. Total silence. Maybe he should say that he had seen it in one of his dreams?

It took him a few moments to reply, and by then both James and his father were looking at him with strange eyes, “I saw it in a dream, sir. I was curious when I saw the photograph, and wanted to see if the story I had heard was true.”

“It is, but I’m not entirely sure how you could come to know about that through a dream.”

Harry frowned, he didn’t quite understand that either. A full minute had almost gone by before his eyes widened as he remembered something else. He had almost forgotten, and he didn’t want to be seen as rude, not with his father around. 

He looked back at Abraxas for a few seconds, only to immediately look down. “Sorry for being rude, Mr. Malfoy, I had forgotten,” he then started saying. “I’m sorry about the dragon pox, I hope you recover soon.”

Abraxas Malfoy immediately stared at him in utter shock, along with his father. 

He didn’t have the disease, as it turned out. 

Only James broke the uncomfortable silence that immediately settled around them, grinning with an excitement that didn’t match his surroundings as he immediately asked what else Harry had seen in his dream.

When he heard from his father that Abraxas had caught dragon pox just a week after their meeting with the reigning Lord Malfoy, Harry felt a strange weight in the pit of his stomach. 

Everything quickly started changing.

*  *  *

James had probably been the most excited out of all of his family, and had immediately started asking questions the minute they had left the Malfoy manor. 

Harry couldn’t have been more grateful for the excited grin that had graced his twin’s lips every time he had mentioned and told James of one of his dreams. He had gifted him a nice-looking leather-bound blank notebook with which to keep track of his dreams. Would a snake bite their grandfather, Henry Potter? And if it did, would Orion Black also end up having trouble passing a law at the Wizengamot because of a scandal?

They had quickly made a game out of trying to see if each of the things Harry had dreamt of came to happen, and it was all settled in their minds when they saw on a newspaper that the star seeker of the Montrose Magpies _had_ fallen from his broom in the middle of their match against the Wimbourne Wasps. 

James had been particularly impressed at that one, Harry noticed. “That settles it, Harry. We’ll make a fortune betting on quidditch matches!”

Harry wasn’t sure how to feel about about that, and didn’t know whether he had the heart to tell James that he didn’t usually dream about quidditch results and wasn’t sure it would be okay to use his dreams like that. He hadn’t really been fully honest with his twin, though, and hadn’t really mentioned the fears that he had had after being able to guess like that that Abraxas Malfoy was going to catch dragon pox. Still, he was glad that James had been so excited for him. 

His parents… They had been different, and hadn’t looked excited in any way. 

His mother had stared at him awkwardly for a few seconds before hugging him and praising his ability. She had smiled, she really had, but Harry could tell she was worried. “Having the sight is a great gift, Harry,” she had said. “You’ll have to be careful from now on.”

His father had just briefly congratulated him before starting to write a letter to an esteemed professor he knew. 

Harry had tried his best not to mind, and had instead just spent the better of his days playing quidditch with his brother. 

Only Harry’s great-uncle, Charlus Potter, had been the only one to react normally, rather than with the eerie and reverent sort of silence his parents had first looked at him with. He had treated Harry differently, and whilst he had offered Harry praise and congratulated him, he had quickly started soothing Harry’s fears. 

“Anyone can change their fate, Harry,” Charlus had said, with a confident voice. “Never forget that, no matter what you see. Don’t think for a second anything you see makes you guilty of it.” 

Harry couldn’t have been happier at hearing that. 

Life had just started going back to normal when his parents received the visit of the professor that his father had written to after the Abraxas incident. 

Harry couldn’t have been more excited to meet the man, as had been James: Albus Dumbledore, the famous headmaster of Hogwarts. He was old, as old as Harry’s grandfather, and had a calm and soothing smile that had made Harry immediately relax. 

“Albus, it is good to see you,” Fleamont greeted, with a tone of relief that was impossible to miss.

“We were getting worried. There has never been a seer in either of our families, and with the current political situation—” 

Dumbledore shook his head and just smiled, “it is nothing serious, Euphemia. There is no need for such worry.” 

Harry’s mother sighed with relief, and his father visibly relaxed. They had then moved to the main living room in the Potter manor, and had told both James and Harry to go back to their rooms. Not that that had stopped them from attempting to listen to the conversation. How could they resist the curiosity? 

“Are you sure it’s nothing to worry about, Albus? The purebloods Abraxas knows must have heard by now, and if this gets out…”

“He is still a child, Fleamont, he barely knows what his dreams are or what having the sight means.”

“The dark side will hear and use him, Albus, you know it as well as I do. If that man, the dark lord, hears and gets close to Harry…” 

Harry had never heard his mother sound that worried about anything. His dreams weren’t that extraordinary, right? 

There was an exchange of muffled comments, and Harry and James sat by the door in silence, ears pressed against its solid and elaborate wood. 

“Tom might try to influence him, yes,” Harry heard Dumbledore start to say, “but the boy is too young yet. He won’t be able to fully see through his inner eye for a number of years.”

“What can we do then, Albus?” his mother asked.

“For now? Nothing. Start training the boy and teaching him — he’ll need to know how special his gift is, and how to protect himself from people’s bad intentions.”

“Will that be enough though, Albus?” his father asked. “What if the Daily Prophet catches on to this and people learn? Harry, he’d be…”

“Of course, Fleamont,” the man still sounded relaxed and calm. Confident. “As long as young Harry knows what this means and he is prepared, all will be fine.”

Harry then heard Dumbledore get up from his seat and walk across their living room, and his parents mirror the man’s actions.

“However, it’d be better if the boy understood what his gift is,” Harry could practically hear the smile in Dumbledore’s voice. 

Harry and James shared a look, and scrambled to get away from the door as soon as they heard their parents and Dumbledore move to exit their living room. Their steps loud and easy to hear on the polished wooden floor. They shouldn’t have been here. 

They had just barely managed to get to the main staircase of the Potter manor by the time the living room’s door was opened, and they immediately knew by the way their mother was looking at them there would be no way of hiding that they had been overhearing the conversation. 

Dumbledore gestured him to get closer. “Harry, my boy,” he said with a gentle smile. 

“Sir?” Harry asked, frowning. He didn’t quite know what to say or do, and remained silent as the man crouched down to his eye level and maintained a gentle smile. It was a few seconds before the headmaster spoke again. 

“Don’t fear your dreams, no matter what you see or what people may say, Harry, and no matter how great a responsibility it seems.” He was looking directly at him, serious, and Harry could barely muster a word. 

Harry frowned, suddenly remembering the dragon pox. “But Sir, Abraxas Malfoy…”

Dumbledore looked at him with kind and unassuming eyes. “It is our choices, Harry, that show us what we truly are far more than our abilities. What happened to Abraxas had nothing to do with your dream, even if you already knew it would happen.”

Harry just nodded, remaining silent, as Dumbledore stood up and greeted his parents. It was only just before he was about to floo out of the Potter manor that he turned towards Harry again with a kind smile. 

“We can always find happiness, Harry. Even in the darkest of times.”

*  *  *

Wand and flying practice had been the norm until then, as well as some slightly rarer potions practice classes their father had Harry and James take every few months. Harry’s days, however, soon became increasingly occupied and convoluted as Harry’s mother planned extra daily lessons for him to take.

Etiquette lessons were some of the first for Harry to be added, which James only grudgingly joined in the spirit of friendship. Then came basic magical theory and history, and by the time Harry was dealing with basic arithmancy, divination, and astronomy on top of the rest he didn’t have any time left for flying practice any more. If the greater part of his days were spent out in the fields around the Potter manor before, they increasingly came to be spent inside the library inside. 

By the time two months month had gone by, Harry didn’t have time so much as to even touch his broom, and though he hungered to know more and to understand his gift and dreams, he couldn’t help but to be hurt by this slightly. He couldn’t be more grateful for James choosing to accompany him to some of the extra lessons he had had to take on, but he resented the fact that he wasn’t able to have time to play quidditch with his twin as often as he once had. No matter how much he knew he had to understand and control the gift he had received, in order to help people. 

After some months, he had managed to find hiding places inside the manor’s library in some of the corners and behind the tall bookshelves that covered all of the room’s walls. Before he knew it he had taken to spending there time after his actual study sessions had finished, book or two in hand, despite the protests of his brother. It was when he was nine when he first heard about alternate methods of divination. 

He found he didn’t go out as often as he once had, and that he had stopped both being taken by his father to meetings with other purebloods, and meeting other purebloods his age. His life became increasingly narrow — and any visit to Diagon Alley or other places was often done either in the company of his parents or James. Every now and again he’d go to stay with his great-uncle Charlus  and his wife Dorea. He couldn’t say he particularly minded, however, and he somehow came to grow even closer to James despite the increased workload. 

By the time he was almost ten he had learnt how to read fire-omens and had started started becoming proficient in palmistry and reading the cards, but he missed quidditch and playing out in the sun. 

His parents were happy to see his progress, though, and once he started reading them fire-omens and sharing his dreams their proud grins made everything clear in his mind. Harry started pouring himself even more into his studies, coming to find a certain sense of enjoyment in reading and learning magic. 

It was around that time when he started reading fire-omens for his parents, and the strange accuracy of the things he read combined with the dreams he always noted down made it into habit. 

Harry was relieved he didn’t remember many.

*  *  *

“Face reading?” 

James had a look of utter confusion that he wasn’t used to seeing, and Harry didn’t think that he had ever seen his twin look as confused as he did now.  The library was cool despite the hot summer that blazed outside, and Harry had spent the majority of the morning there, catching up on a few books his mother had told him to finish by the end of the week.  

Harry put his book down and smiled at his twin. “It’s a type physiognomy, the study of an person’s inner character and soul from their appearance. Some branches of it apparently go back to the first Babylonian dynasty, but it’s gone in a lot of different ways historically.”

“And you believe that?” James didn’t look convinced at all.

Harry shrugged, “it reminds me of palm-reading, but its purpose is a bit different.” He then looked back at the book, “I suppose it’s interesting.”

He still looked skeptical, “and you could see how someone really is even without talking to them?”

“In theory,” Harry beamed, “part of their future and luck as well.”

James had started to look slightly more interested after hearing that. “So you could technically see how successful a person will be?” 

“In theory,” Harry repeated again. “I’m really not quite sure how much I believe in it, I think I prefer fire-omens.”

“But you could see if a person was evil without talking to them, right? Or even if they made an effort to hide it.”

“That’s what the book says, at least,” Harry smiled. “I could read yours if you want, for practice.”

James grinned and moved to sit closer to Harry, who just reopened the book. It wasn’t really useful, as it turned out, since Harry couldn’t understand much about the techniques yet and he didn’t think he was particularly good at this type of thing anyways. He only really managed to get a clear image of who James would apparently end up with though, and his twin had been visibly pleased to hear about it. Even whilst Harry still said that he didn’t know enough to be able to tell.

When he was asked to say if he had seen anything similar in the fire, Harry was more than happy to answer, and he didn’t miss James’ excited face when he said something about a red-haired girl.

*  *  *

By the time Harry was almost eleven, things had gotten worse. James, being the oldest, was designated as heir, and Harry started feeling increasingly lonely for what was the first time in his life. 

He still got to see his brother, but as James started to accompany their father to meetings as part of his training as heir, Harry found himself spending less and less time with his older twin. The moments with the both of them together in the library or outside in the garden of the manor, with Harry studying and James flying on his broom, grew rarer and rarer, and Harry couldn’t help but miss their old proximity and the way things had been. 

He felt lonely, and soon Harry had found himself spending entire mornings in the library reading by himself, at most with the company of their house elves or his mother. He had always counted on James as his best friend, knew his twin would always _be_ his best friend, but he couldn’t help but feel a strange emptiness as days went by. 

He couldn’t tell if something had change — ‘ _it hasn’t_ ,’ he had been quick to assure himself, James was still his best friend. 

He couldn’t do anything about the strange distance it had put between his twin and him, however, and didn’t really know what to think about it. Harry instead refused to even think about it, deciding to focus on getting used to his new days and keep studying. 

Then came the day when James and Harry received their Hogwarts letters, and the excitement of celebrating their birthdays was combined with that of receiving the letter that said everything they’d need to start Hogwarts that year. Charlus and Dorea even came to celebrate. 

When, after dinner, Harry automatically made his way back to the library to finish one of the essays he had been set, they had both been left stunned, and by the time Harry had hidden behind one of the bookshelves on the left of the room he had tears welling up and hands covering his ears. The shouting was impossible to ignore as it descended into the room Harry had grown more used to than his own room.

“You idiots,” Charlus Potter snarled, “this was not what was supposed to be done.”

“Charlus,” Harry’s father said, “you have to understand. There’s no need to react like that.”

“React…!” There was a pause. “Harry barely has any time to play with his James anymore, can you even see what you’re doing to the boy?”

“Charlus, understand. The boy’s a seer, he must be ready for—” his mother pleaded. 

“James and Harry just got their Hogwarts letters, what do they need to get ready for?”

“You know as well as I do how bad the political situation is right now!” Harry heard his father shout.

“As well as you do? That doesn’t affect either of them yet.” Harry had never heard Charlus sound that angry.

“With how frequently he dreams and sees things it’ll be public knowledge by the time he gets to Hogwarts. Harry must be ready to—”

“You don’t know that,” argued a female voice that Harry barely managed to place as Charlus’ wife, Dorea Potter. 

“But they will, Dorea. People have been talking ever since Abraxas died — and we all then know the rumors about who Abraxas really served, _that man_ must know about it by now.” Harry shivered at his father’s words, and couldn’t contain the tears that started making their way down his face.

“Which means nothing — you’re both basing yourselves on suppositions and theories,” Dorea continued.

There was a pregnant pause and a long stretch of silence before Euphemia continued instead of her husband. “Of course they will,” finally came Euphemia’s reply, “and when they do, that dark lord will try to get Harry to—”

“You think he’ll be made a pawn…” Dorea mumbled.

“Yes, and you know it’s what that man will attempt — we’re close enough to war as it is, and a powerful seer… Dumbledore is right, you know he is.”

“You’ve sacrificed his childhood, Fleamont, taken it away.” Charlus still sounded angry. “Harry will never get that back, you’ve been forcing him to grow up too quickly. Made him into a pawn anyways.”

“A necessary sacrifice. He can’t afford to be ignorant for long, not if—” Fleamont Potter replied. 

Harry, blinking wet, turned and looked back at his Hogwarts letter. He couldn’t help shivering, and wished that James had come down with him to the library. Even overhearing the discussion would be more bearable if he was. 

Harry closed his eyes, and breathed in and out slowly. He had to believe that it would all be okay, that he hadn’t actually lost anything to the rigorous classes he had undergone.

His father had once said Hogwarts was the most beautiful place he had ever seen, and Charlus had agreed. Hogwarts, the ancient castle with untold secrets and endless rooms that he would explore with James, where he would finally meet more friends. It didn’t matter that things had changed, or that he could see things in his dreams or in the fire.

When James found him after the shouting had stopped and hugged him, Harry _knew_. 

Yes, things back then had been perfect, they had been _normal_. But they could still be, Harry was sure. His great-uncle Charlus had promised after all — people made their own fates. Harry knew he could still be normal. He had James, after all.

When Harry fell asleep in James’ bed that night he dreamt a strangely empty dream that gave way to a shack and a ring and a curse. The skies turned dark and stormy, and the only thing Harry managed to clearly remember was the strange engraving on the odd black ring. 


	2. Chapter 2

When they arrived at Diagon Alley the next morning together with their mother, Harry thought he would melt in the hot August heat. He had never seen Diagon Alley this full of people, certainly not any of the other times he had visited the street with his family, and he couldn't help but feel slightly dizzy at the sheer amount. He had come to find solace in the library; its comforting silence and the scent of age-old parchment and books intoxicating him with a strange sense of peace.

He simply wasn't used to being surrounded by this many people or noises, and he couldn't help but find it slightly draining.

It was too noisy, too full of activity. Everywhere he looked he were people and noise, and he was almost certain that if he accidentally paid too much attention to someone in particular he'd be able to–

James placed his hand on his shoulder and Harry almost jumped, surprised. "Harry, are you alright?" he asked,

Harry smiled, "I am, thank you, James."

His twin smiled honestly, his eyes brightening. "If you're sure, Harry," he still looked a bit concerned, but didn't seem really worried. "I'm here for you, if you need anything."

Harry grinned at his twin and nodded. He was being irrational, he knew, and he forced himself to swallow down his nervousness.

Their mother, who had been observing them with tranquility from behind until then, stepped forwards. "Stay close to me, boys," she said, placing a hand on Harry's head. "Don't wander away from me, with this many people you could get lost."

He could only watch in amazement as their mother then expertly navigated them through the crowds of people going in and out from stores, not getting stuck once or wasting needless time. Harry could practically feel his twin brother vibrate with excitement when they passed Quality Quidditch Supplies and Eeylops Owl Emporium, and he couldn't help but eye Flourish and Blotts as they walked in front of the bookstore.

"Will we get quidditch supplies?" James asked with a grin as they immediately set themselves on their way. "Could we get some; may we get some?"

Their mother smiled expertly, and almost as if teasing, "only if it's required in your Hogwarts supplies."

James immediately groaned, and Harry couldn't help but to smile.

"How about owls?" James went on to ask.

Euphemia seemed to stop and think about it for a few seconds before nodding, "yes, you'll each get one. Not yet, though, we'll get them after all the rest of the things you'll need for your first year."

They turned into an alley, and soon Harry found himself being measured alongside his brother. Madam Malkin's Robes For All Occasions – the best place to get their Hogwarts uniforms, according to their mother. It hadn't taken long for them to be attended, the store had been mostly empty, but the half an hour that taking the measurements for the both of them and preparing their Hogwarts uniforms seemed eternal to Harry. It was lucky they weren't in need of a new wardrobe, or they'd have had to spend more time inside the store.

The apothecary was their next stop, as well as their fastest. They simply walked up to the counter and gave the clerk the list of ingredients that had been sent to them together with their Hogwarts list, and in five minutes they had everything that they needed. Then came parchment, quills, and ink; until they finally only had to buy their trunks, wands and required books.

Harry managed to slip away after they had been ten minutes in a store specializing in trunks and bags, arguing that it would probably be best if he got an early start in getting James and him the books that they'd need for their first year at Hogwarts. It had been the store he had been the most interested in visiting after Ollivander's, and since he figured that getting their wands would go last, Harry wanted to get as much time to look at the books on offer before they would have to leave. He had saved up money from his allowance just for this occasion.

He knew he had access to all of the books at the manor's library and those that his parents gave him as part of his divination training and education, but he really wanted to see all of the other books he could possibly read. Particularly any non-divination ones. He found the various topics within it interesting, of course, as he did astrology, but he couldn't help but be curious about... other subjects. No matter how much his parents had insisted that divination was what he should concentrate the most on.

Transfiguration, charms, defense... It was part of the reason why he had been excited to finally go to Hogwarts. He'd finally get a chance to walk away from fire-omens and his dreams, even if just when relating to what he'd get to study most days. He would finally get to be just another student.

Harry couldn't help but look around himself in awe as he stepped into Flourish and Blotts. He had been able to see most of the books that the store had in offer from the outside, of course, but nothing had prepared him for the sheer amount of new tomes that he was surrounded by when he entered. The store fortunately wasn't too full, and he could look at the books in peace. It was completely unlike the Potter manor's library, and he had the chance to look for any book that he was interested in - even if not related to divination or any of his studies.

Grabbing a feather-light basket, he managed to resist the temptation to immediately go looking for books he'd be interested in, and decided to buy the school books he and James would need first. After he was done, he would go through the bookstore section by section, looking for anything he'd be interested in.

He started with the history section, where he quickly grabbed two copies of the textbooks that they had been set for their History of Magic class. He then went to Transfiguration, and followed to the Herbology section as soon as he had gotten all of the textbooks that their Hogwarts letter had indicated. Astronomy, Potions, Charms, Defense...

Harry grinned, took out his Hogwarts letter, and checked that he had gotten everything that was needed. "Perfect," he muttered, and quickly looked around himself again.

What should be his first section to go through whilst he waited for his mother to arrive with James?

His eyes quickly set on the clearly indicated 'Divination' section at the very back of the store. He didn't exactly want to get anything from there, but his mother would probably appreciate seeing a book related to his studies amongst the thing he had gotten for himself with his allowance. He walked towards it with determination, and looked at the titles on offer with an air of disinterest. Not many caught his eye, not truthfully, and it was a few minutes until he finally saw one that caught his interest: 'A Complete Chronicle of the Oracle of Delphi'. He put it in his basket, and quickly grabbed two others that he was more sure his mother would appreciate more – 'The Dream Oracle' and 'Unfogging the Future' – and immediately started walking towards some of the other sections at the bookstore.

He grinned. Transfiguration had seemed really interesting, but he didn't think think he'd be able to understand much of what the books in-store were about without starting his classes first. Same thing went for Potions. He already knew the basics of cutting ingredients, thanks to the tutoring he and James had had, and he imagined that everything else would likely be covered in the textbooks they had been set. That left Defense, and two strange sections he had seen and not been able to recognise – Arithmacy and Ancient Runes.

What could they be about? He had never heard about the two subjects before. Were they interesting?

Harry went to the Defense section, where he quickly grabbed five more books. Two of them seemed to be about the basics of defense, and the other three about shields, duels, various curses and counters. He imagined that all of this would be covered at Hogwarts, but he couldn't help being curious. After all, who knew when some bit of knowledge, obscure or otherwise, would save him from the dangers that his parents had told him about, or other dangerous situations?

He turned towards the sections he hadn't recognized and started walking with a fast pace. He turned left and into the corridor where Arithmacy and Ancient Runes were located. It wouldn't take long for his mother to arrive, and–

Harry almost fell onto the floor at the impact, together with some of the books he had picked up from the Divination and Defense sections. He felt himself blush. How hadn't he seen that another person had been standing right in front of him?

"I'm sorry, Sir," he said automatically, whilst he immediately looked around for the books that had fallen down. He could see the two defense books that he had been interested in, along with one of the other divination ones that had fallen, but where was–?

"I believe you dropped this," he heard a man say politely. He could tell the man was offering him a book from the corner of his eye.

Harry looked up, ready to apologize once again as per the etiquette lessons had taught him, but couldn't help but stare in shock as soon as he saw who he had run into. This was the same man he had seen in Abraxas Malfoy's Hogwarts photograph all those years ago – the sullen-looking one, that had been on one of the sides. One of the people that he had seen in his dream from when Abraxas had revealed having dragon pox, all those years back. What had been his name, though? Harry couldn't quite manage to remember.

The man stared at him in silence, still offering him the book he had dropped when he had collided with him.

"Y- you're..." Harry stuttered, not being able to help himself. He had never seen anyone else from that dream before.

The man was now frowning, no doubt at Harry's stuttering silence. "You dropped this, right?" he continued, turning the book around in order to see the title. "A Complete Chronicle of the Oracle of Delphi?"

"I," stammered out Harry, "yes, it was the last one I was looking for. Sorry for the trouble." He quickly reached for the other books that had fallen to put them back with the others he was carrying.

The man looked down at the books Harry had in his feather-light basket, and eyed Harry with a hint of curiosity. "Not a book one would expect of a first year student."

"I, no, yes," stuttered Harry, still distracted and stammering out a series of words that he was sure didn't quite make full sense. "I've been studying it in my private time." He was too shocked, not really able to think clearly. Had this been the man that had released...?

True to his dream and the photograph he had seen, the man possessed brown locks and piercing dark eyes all set into an aristocratic face. He was wearing robes as expensive as Harry could, somewhat vaguely, remember him wearing in his dream, holding himself with an air of superiority that Harry wasn't able to miss. Then there was a strange red glint in his eyes, but Harry didn't quite know what to make of it.

"You're one of the people that were with Abraxas Malfoy," Harry said, not being able to help himself, before thinking his words through. "One of the ones in the photograph too – the one that mentioned that creature that was released, the... what was it again..."

The man's gaze turned sharp. His eyes bore into Harry as the spark of curiosity morphed with one of recognition, and Harry saw the man frown. "You're the Potters' youngest son."

That threw Harry off, who suddenly remembered why he was at the store. "Yes, I am," his mother would be angry if he took too long here, and he was sure she'd arrive in no time now. "I was getting all of the first years books that we needed," he awkwardly explained.

Harry suddenly remembered that the man had been offering the last book that had fallen down, extended a hand to grab hold of it, and placed it back into his basket. "Sorry for running into you before, Sir, I wasn't looking where I was going," he then added, as politely as he could muster.

"It is quite alright," the man said, observing Harry with a raised eyebrow.

Harry was about to turn and leave, having to abandon for later his plans to browse over the Arithmacy and Ancient Runes sections in favour of not having to talk any longer, when he heard heard a neutral voice again.

"It seems like I disturbed some of the plans you had," he heard him say, "were you looking for something in the ancient runes or arithmacy sections?"

Harry stopped in his tracks and turned, slightly surprised; he had figured that the man ought to have noticed, but hadn't exactly expected this.

Harry looked up at the man. "I was going over things that looked interesting, since I already finished getting the basic required books, and wondered what these two sections were about" he started saying.

"You're interested in them?" the man said, now looking surprised.

Harry couldn't help but smiling at the man's surprise, and felt himself gaining some confidence. "I had never heard about either, so I figured I might as well get a book or two about them to learn something. Before I go to Hogwarts, I mean."

The man then stared at him with the same curiosity in his eyes. It was when he turned around to look the bookshelves in the arithmacy and ancient runes sections that Harry noticed for the first time the man's features, and had his mind go back to the theory of face reading he had learnt about so far. Eyes betrayed intelligence and temperament, and the man's eyes had clear whites with rather straight lines. Wary, then, and intelligent. The width between them... a visionary, there was no doubt. And the nose–

The man handed him two books: 'Numerology and Grammatica', and 'Ancient Runes Made Easy'. Harry grabbed them, distracted away from his thoughts.

"These two should serve you well, if you are interested in learning about the two subjects," the man said politely.

He couldn't help but smile as he eyed the books. They looked _interesting_ , more so than the divination books he had picked up before. He remained still, silently reading the description of the books in the back cover, and placed them slowly on the basket he had been carrying. "Thank you, sir." Harry managed to say. He was about to continue, when he heard a familiar voice from the entrance of the store.

"Harry! You were taking quite a lot, so we decided to–" James. And his mother was right besides him, staring at the two of them with an unreadable expression.

Harry grimaced. He had taken too much time in Flourish and Blotts, they still needed to get their wands and owls.

He turned to look at his twin, smiled apologetically, and then back at the familiar stranger. "Thank you for all of the help, but I should get going. My family's been waiting for me for too long."

The man just nodded, and Harry almost ran towards the counter to pay for all of the books, leaving the store quickly afterwards.

 

*  *  *

 

"Ollivander's," Euphemia said, "there is no one better." Harry could barely contain a grin.

The shop they finally came to stop in front of seemed slightly shabby and old. There wasn't anything overly recognizable other than bright golden letters painted over the door, which read 'Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.' A simple display of wands stood behind the display windows, a tinkling bell rang within he store as they stepped inside. It was narrow, incredibly narrow, and Harry couldn't help but wonder how many people it'd be able to fit inside at the same time.

Not many, in all likelyhood.

"Good morning," said a soft voice, and an old man appeared from the back of the shop. He seemed calm and good-natured, and Harry found himself slightly unnerved by the white-haired man for no real reason.

He smiled as soon as he saw their mother, "Ah, Mrs. Potter, it is nice to see you again. It seems only yesterday that you were here yourself, buying your first wand. Hawthorn, wasn't it? Ten inches long, unicorn hair, very flexible. Excellent for transfiguration."

"Yes, Mr. Ollivander," their mother replied evenly, "it has served me well."

"I am glad to hear that, Mrs. Potter."

"We are here today for my sons' wands, however," Euphemia said evenly.

"Of course," Ollivander said. "Let me see, Mr. Potter," he said, "which is your wand arm?" 

"Right," James said, visibly nervous

"Hold out that arm then. Yes, that's it," he said, and started measuring James from shoulder to finger immediately. "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a magical substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and dragon heartstrings. No two wands are exactly the same, just like no two of these creatures are ever quite the same. Naturally, you will never get as good results with another wizard's wand as you do with your first wand."

"Never?" Harry asked, curious.

"Most of the time, Mr. Potter," Ollivander replied, not giving any more details, before walking with a determined pace to a corner of the shop and picking up two separate boxes.

Harry took the chance to look around the store. Despite how narrow the store was, and how cramped it was bound to get when there were too many customers inside, everything seemed to be well organized. Tall bookshelves went from the floor up to the very ceiling of the room, and left little space for the people inside of the store. Harry couldn't help but be slightly pleased at the apparent order, and observed Ollivander with curiosity as he easily navigated around all of the bookshelves around the room to pick specific wands.

It didn't take too long, and it was only after four wands that his brother found a core that he bonded with. A mahogany wand of eleven inches, pliable. 'Excellent for transfiguration', as Ollivander was quick to add.

It was then Harry's turn, and despite not really knowing what to do, he quickly found himself being handed wand after wand. It wasn't smooth though, and couldn't have been more different than how choosing James' wand could have been. Some didn't react at all, whilst just by touching others something was set on fire, exploded, or thrown violently around the room.

"Tricky customer, mm? Do not worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere."

Ollivander became visibly more excited as Harry found himself becoming increasingly nervous, and it was by the time that they reached the 25th wand that Harry started wondering whether any wand would suit him. Ollivander, however, just gained a pensive look. "Perhaps..." he muttered, and before Harry could said anything the white-haired man disappeared into the back of the store.

He reemerged a few minutes later, holding a black box covered in a thick layer of dust in his hands, and handed the wand to Harry. "Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple. Try it." 

As soon as his fingers touched the wand, Harry felt an enormous difference. The others had felt wrong or like pieces of wood, but this one was different. Sparks of all colors shot out form the tip of his wand, and he felt a warm energy traveling up his arm and spreading through his body. Harry grinned.

"Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well... curious, how very curious," Ollivander exclaimed. He put Harry's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering. "Curious... curious..."

Harry frowned, and turned towards Ollivander as he saw James and his mother do the same. "Sorry, but what's curious?" he asked.

Ollivander looked at him with his pale stare for several moments before replying. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather – just one other. Yes, thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, never forget that."

Harry's frown deepened, and Ollivander handed him the wrapped box. "I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter."

"I'm not sure I completely understand," Euphemia sighed, "you're shocked because the brother of Harry's wand is already owned by someone?"

"Not quite, Mrs. Potter," Ollivander said. "Whilst it is rare to see brother wands, that isn't exactly the reason for my... awe."

"What is the reason, then?" James asked, not being able to contain his curiosity.

Ollivander frowned slightly, but continued. "The other who came to own the other wand, of course."

Harry immediately saw lines of worry appear on his mother's expression, "and who might that be?" she asked with slight curiosity.

Ollivander looked at Harry again, eyes gleaming oddly, "Tom Marvolo Riddle, Mrs. Potter."

"The Dark Lord," he heard his mother mutter in a way that made him think that she could faint.

Ollivander ignored it, and kept staring at Harry. "Yes, I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter. After all, Mr. Riddle has done great things – some terrible, yes, but great."

 

*  *  *

 

Harry spent the next of the summer studying his new books on top of the divination-related ones his parents had set for him, and getting acquainted with this new wand. It was wonderful, and he soon found himself wanting to test out some of the spells he saw on the textbooks that he had been set for his first-year classes. He took to finally exploring the more hidden areas in the manor's library, making sure to note down the titles of any books he found interesting for future reading during the winter break.

Nothing much changed, however, though he got the chance to spend more time with James at the library as his twin brother's responsibilities as heir lessened somewhat in preparation for Hogwarts. At most visiting on a few occasions the Longbottoms and the Weasley, but otherwise usually remaining at home. It was James' duty to attend parties with his father and meet other pure bloods. He didn't begrudge him for it, though. He much preferred to remain at home than to force himself to be friendly with some of the other people he'd meet there, or have to answer this or that question. Hedwig, his brother, and the library were enough for him. 

The biggest change came in the form of the owl that his mother got him: Hedwig, a Snowy Owl that Harry quickly took a liking to. She was intelligent and was very well behaved – much more so than James' Great Grey, who seemed to be constantly screeching for this or that. Before he knew it he had started spending long hours after the sun had set out in the gardens of the manor, petting and talking to her. He couldn't really remember a time when he had spent that long outside, and soon he was studying out in the fields with Hedwig, enjoying the comforting presence of his silent companion.

His parents were pleased, he could tell, at the added studies he took on without complaint, and Harry found that August passed by at an alarmingly quick speed. Before he knew it the beginning of September had arrived, and he was heading off with James his parents to King's Cross and to the Hogwarts Express.

It hadn't always been there, apparently, or so had his parent's told him. It was a more recent invention designed to make the travel to Hogwarts easier for those that didn't have the private means to go there with ease.

He and James were both practically vibrating with excitement when the day to finally go to Hogwarts came. James had a wide grin on his face and was walking around the manor's living room asking their parents aloud, who still hadn't gone to the entrance, whether they were going to leave soon. Harry, though trying to appear slightly more self-contained, was excitedly clutching the handle of his trunk whilst petting Hedwig from within the cage. It was a few minutes before their parents came down, and by then he could barely wait anymore.

"Come on, mum, dad!" James said, immediately rushing towards them. Harry followed, their parents smiled at the both of them, and before he even realized they apparated away.

 

*  *  *

 

Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was far more impressive than anything Harry could have imagined. It was buzzing with people despite them having arrived at a more than reasonable time, with families everywhere giving each other their goodbyes and wishing the departing students a good year. More luggage than Harry thought he'd ever see was being carted around _everywhere_ , and he felt like his heart would burst at the excitement he was feeling.

He grinned. Finally, after all of the stories he had heard about the school, he'd be going to Hogwarts. He'd get to learn magic, all kinds of magic, and he honestly couldn't wait to see how the year would be. He'd get to spend more time with James _again_ , with no divination studies or Heir responsibilities getting in the way. 

Their father was the first to react to where they were, and seemed to almost jump when he spotted a some he recognized at one of the ends of the station. Harry looked at the direction in which his father was looking in, and managed to recognise Augusta Longbottom at the side, standing still and looking confident. She was a dear friend of his parents, and they had met her before when he and James been taken to meet her son, Frank Longbottom, years ago.

Fleamont turned towards them, smiling apologetically. "There's some business I need to take care of," he starts saying, and gestured towards Augusta Longbottom. "Wait for me here," he then said with a smile as he looked at Euphemia, and then at James and Harry.

"Of course, dear," his mother said with a kind smile.

Harry only nodded absentmindedly, too distracted in his surroundings to really be able to process what was going on around him.

The platform was huge, with red bricked walls and a tall glass ceiling that somehow managed to be one of the most impressive things Harry had ever seen until then. The  most impressive thing about it, however, was the train, the Hogwarts Express, that would be taking him and his twin to the school. It was painted in a shiny sort of black which alternated with a bright red, and he couldn't help but but glance at it every few seconds. Unable to pay any real attention to anything else that was going on around them.

It was after students had started going into the train that Harry saw his father return to them. James grinned, quickly bid his parents a goodbye, hugged them both, and immediately rushed off into the train, dragging his trunk behind him. Fleamont shared a look with Euphemia that went unnoticed, whilst Harry couldn't help but laugh at his brother's impatience. 

"I should go into the train as well, find out what compartment James wants to be in," he said, and suddenly felt melancholic at the thought of how much things were going to change once he'd get to Hogwarts.

"Of course, Harry," his mother said. She was smiling fondly. "We will really miss having you both at the manor, it will be strange to not see you every day."

His father smiled, "make sure to owl us every day, Harry, we will do the same."

Harry grinned and nodded, "thank you. Mum, dad, I will." He then turned around to look at the train, and felt a pang of worry at the thought that he wouldn't be able to find James. What if he had to sit in a compartment full of strangers?

He was about to turn to go into the Hogwarts Express when he heard his father speak again.

"Before you leave, Harry," he heard his father say as he crouched on one leg. "Hogwarts is safer than any place, but there is a man you should be wary about." He was looking directly at Harry now, and the tone of worry with which he had spoken was unmistakable.

Harry frowned, not quite knowing what to expect to hear. His parents looked worried, and he didn't quite know why. Was something wrong? "A man? Hogwarts is safe, isn't it?" he asked aloud. "Why would he want me?"

"Because of your dreams, Harry," Euphemia said. "You know you must be careful, if someone knew–"

"But no one knows about them, do they? Just Dumbledore and us," Harry muttered, and looked down. His parents had been worried about people finding out about his dreams. He knew, he had overheard them talk about what could potentially happen multiple times. It had been one of the reasons why they had insisted in having him learn divination that early on, and they had insisted that the next summer he ought to start with occlumecy to protect any secrets. But...

"Of course, sweetie," his mother continued, "but you have to be careful."

"I know I must!" Harry said, not being able to keep his voice entirely neutral. "It's why you said I'd be studying more topics next summer, right? Occlumency?" 

His parents smiled apologetically, and his father nodded. "To protect the secrets in your mind."

"Because even if I don't have any now, I will have to protect anything I see from others," Harry then added, remembering exactly how his parents had explained the need for occlumency.

"Harry, that wasn't what we wanted to say though. Once you are at Hogwarts you need to be careful of a certain man," his mother started saying.

Harry frowned. "A man?" How could someone be that dangerous? He had overheard his parents talk about a dark lord with Dumbledore, but someone that evil couldn't possibly be at Hogwarts, right?

It was his father's turn to explain. "Thomas Marvolo Riddle, Harry, he is a a teacher at Hogwarts. He is... dangerous. The things he's done... be very careful around him," he said, this time barely over a whisper.

"How could someone like that be at Hogwarts?" Harry asked, suddenly curious.

Fleamont shook his head, "that doesn't matter right now, Harry." He was still staring straight at him. "Just remember to not tell anyone about your dreams, Harry. No matter what happens, or what you see."

Harry nodded with a serious expression, and turned to face the Hogwarts Express again. He muttered a goodbye and headed into the train, trunk firmly held behind him, committed to finding James. He didn't have much luck at first, and found himself lost when he didn't immediately didn't see his twin standing nearby.

Harry looked around. James ought to have found a compartment by now. He blinked, and started walking down one of the corridors. It could take a while, but he'd eventually manage to find his twin.

Students roamed around everywhere, and most compartments were already starting fill up. He quickly peered into the compartments as he walked by them, desperately wanting to find his twin as soon as possible. In one of them he spotted Lucius Malfoy, the only son and heir of Abraxas Malfoy, and the now Malfoy Lord, sitting amongst a group of people he didn't recognise. Purebloods, most likely, by the look of it. Then a compartment with a boy with a scarred face and soft brown hair, alone. Another one with just two people inside, a black-haired boy with slightly greasy-looking hair and a red haired girl that were talking animatedly.

It was a good five minutes until Harry managed to find his brother. James was at one of the compartments at the very end of the Hogwarts Express, talking animatedly with a black haired boy he didn't recognise. Harry grinned, opened the compartment's door, and entered.

"Harry! Sorry I went ahead, I couldn't resist," James said with a grin. "I thought I wouldn't manage to get a compartment before they all filled up, are mum and dad okay?"

"Of course," Harry said, closing the door behind him and sitting beside the window, his trunk besides him. The black-haired boy was now staring at him with curiosity, and Harry couldn't help but think the other looked slightly familiar to his great aunt Dorea.

"Oh, Sirius! This is my twin brother, Harry. You hadn't met him yet," James said, grinning.

"You both look really similar," Sirius grinned, "pleased to meet you, Harry. I'm Sirius Black."

Harry smiled back, "likewise."

James and Sirius turned back to face each other, and continued with whatever conversation they had been carrying out before. They seemed to have really hit it off, and Harry could tell by James' smile that he was having a lot of fun talking to Sirius.

The train suddenly let out a loud jet of steam and some people steered away from the train the people that remained at the station. He heard a few of them ringing bells, and the train immediately started moving slowly, but picking up speed very quickly.

James grinned. "We're moving!" he shouted.

"Just a few more hours and we'll finally get to Hogwarts," Sirius continued.

Harry grinned, just listening in to the animated conversation. He had already taken out a book, despite James' protests that their first train ride on the Hogwarts Express should be no time for studying, when another boy knocked at their carriage door. He was short, much more than even Harry, and had blue eyes and mousy brown hair all set to light skin.

"Sorry, could I sit here? The other compartments are full," the boy asked.

James beamed, "of course!"

The boy seemed to sigh with relief, and entered the compartment. "Thank Merlin, for a second I thought I'd have to sit with some of the people in higher years. The only other compartments with some space were those with older Slytherins."

Sirius seemed to grin at that, and immediately joked about the house. James and Pettigrew let out a laugh.

The three started talking animatedly, and Harry smiled softly. He felt slightly awkward as the other three bonded over things that he didn't really have an interest in, but he was happy for his brother finding friends that quickly. Harry looked back at the window, and focused on the landscape they were quickly leaving behind. They'd be out of London soon, and at Hogwarts in just a few hours.

Harry grabbed from his trunk one of the books he had been recommended at Flourish and Blotts, the one on Ancient Runes. He quickly started reading it, whilst still paying somewhat of attention to his brother as he talked to the other two boys.

It was a few hours until Harry suddenly started feeling tired. He yawned, and closed the book. Quickly feeling himself falling asleep.

 

*  *  *

 

The first thing Harry became aware of was of a damn coldness surrounding him, followed by the hard surface he was lying on. He could hear the distant sound of bypassing trains, along with muffled noises around him. It was slightly comforting, though strange. Harry opened his eyes and sat up, and immediately took in the sight of the station he was in now.

He was dreaming, Harry at least knew that much.

He rubbed his arms, feeling slightly cold. He was in the middle of a pure-white, wide station. There weren't that many people around, and the ones he could see seemed to be rather distant. A pale and light fog around the station prevented him from recognising their faces at all, giving him the eerie impression that they were completely faceless.

There was a group of them quite close to him, staring intently, with one of them being particularly close to him. Despite the lightness of the fog, he was surprised to see that he still couldn't recognise any of their faces, even as he could clearly distinguish the shapes of distant trains in the stations. 

It took Harry a minute to realise that they were talking to him all at once, their voices sounding strange and worn with age. He could barely distinguish what they were saying, however, and was really only aware of sound of the distant trains as they moved through the huge station.

The lights became brighter, and the voices louder as they all seemed to mesh together. The station seemed to gleam around him, and he had just barely managed to start seeing the faces of those around him when–

 

*  *  *

 

Harry woke up grasping for breath, and sat up, feeling slightly sick and disorientated. He looked around dazedly, and it took a moment for him to realise that his twin brother was shaking him awake.

It was dark out now, by the looks of it, and the only reason he could see anything from out of the window of the compartment was because of the lamps that stood outside. It took him a second to realise that the train wasn't moving anymore.

"Harry! Wake up, we just arrived!" James was saying, grinning.

Harry felt himself awaken completely, and stood up quickly. They had arrived. They were finally at Hogwarts.


	3. Chapter 3

Chaotic order enveloped Hogsmeade Station as students from all years got out of the train. It was slightly colder than it had been at London, though not by too much, and Harry had found himself distracted by the hectic activity around him. Excited whispers and mutters could be heard everywhere, and the foreign station seemed as interesting as Platform Nine and Three-Quarters had been just a few hours ago. Even, and despite of, how rudimentary it seemed when compared to it. There were no high ceilings or elaborate brick walls, as well as no one except for the students getting off the train, yet it seemed undeniably fascinating. 

Harry had been standing outside of train with his brother and the two other boys they had shared a compartment with, Peter and Sirius, in a sort of daze. Leaving behind his trunk as they were informed that it would all bet taken care of for them. A man taller than anyone Harry had ever seen gathered all of the first year students that had been on the Hogwarts Express, and quickly started leading them through a shady path. 

The sun had set completely by the time they had gotten to a dock at the side of a lake, and they had quickly been told to get onto the boats in groups of four. Before he knew it, he had accidentally been separated from James, who seemed to have immediately sat with Sirius and Peter, and with a girl he didn’t recognise. Instead, Harry had ended up on one of the boats with the boy and girl he had seen at the start of the train ride, along with the scarred boy that had been sitting alone. They were talking as animatedly as they had been before, though the girl seemed considerably more excited now. 

There were excited whispers all around him, and even the silent boy gasped with amazement as the boats started moving by themselves and Hogwarts came into view in the distance. 

Harry felt breathless. Hogwarts, even from the outside, was definitely one of the most impressive buildings he had ever seen. Somehow making everything else that he had visited or seen seem unimportant and ugly by comparison. It was imposing and beautiful all at once, with tall stone walls and countless towers, and he could hardly believe that he would be lucky enough to spend the next seven years living within it. That he would get to call it his _home_. 

The girl on their boat seemed to think so too, judging by how the conversation she was having with the black-haired boy audibly turned even more excited. She was grinning, and had a spark of excitement in her eyes. 

“It’s amazing, Severus! I hardly imagined it being this beautiful!”

The black-haired boy smiled a secret sort of smile at her words, and only nodded as he looked at the castle before them. “It is,” he finally said. 

His face betrayed no emotion, and he instead seemed as self-composed as some of the pure bloods Harry had sometimes seen. It was easy to tell, however, that he was just as excited as the girl, or at the very least happy for her excitement.

Harry turned to look at the boat James was in, and saw him looking just as animated. Gesturing wildly with the grin he had grown so used to seeing on his twin. He wondered if he should have made more efforts to keep close to James. 

“You wanted to get onto his boat, didn’t you?” he heard someone ask.

Harry turned around quickly, surprised by the sudden question. He hadn’t expected anyone to ask him anything like that, or even to have noticed how he had distractedly failed to keep up with his twin. The scarred boy was looking at him with an open sort of expression, his soft brown hair now messier than how it had been in the train. He seemed to be slightly worried, and Harry couldn’t help but to be surprised at the honest sort of worry that the other boy seemed to be feeling. 

“It’s okay,” Harry smiled, “it wasn’t that important a deal. I can always be with him, anyways. We’re twins, after all.”

The boy’s expression seemed to soften at that, and as he smiled Harry couldn’t help but wonder whether he should mention seeing him alone on the Hogwarts Express. He seemed nice enough, at least. 

“I’m Harry, by the way,” he said, offering the other boy his hand. “Harry Potter.”

The boy’s smile widened, “Remus Lupin.”

This seemed to catch the attention of the boy and the girl, that had, until now, been talking animatedly. Hogwarts was now looming ever closer. 

“I’m sure you’ll be able to see him very soon — we’re all going to be living at Hogwarts over the next months, anyways,” the girl said, smiling. 

Remus immediately nodded, “exactly!” 

Attention quickly focused on Harry, and soon the three were looking directly at him. 

“Besides,” Remus continued, “you’re  twins. Twin brothers and sisters often end up in the same house, right?” 

“Griffindor, probably,” the other boy said with an almost dry-sounding voice. 

Harry wasn’t completely about that, but the Remus and the girl seemed to nod at that. Some second went by in a slightly awkward silence, until the girl practically stood up with surprise. 

“Sorry, I didn’t realise that I hadn’t said my name!” she said, and immediately smiled. She offered her hand, “I’m Lily Evans.” Harry smiled and nodded, repeating his name as he took her hand.

It was a few seconds until the black haired boy followed suit, though he didn’t seem to mean badly. “Severus Snape.”

“It is a pleasure,” Harry said, trying to be as open as possible. The two of them seemed to have known each other from before Hogwarts, and he couldn’t blame him for having focused on talking with Lily. Harry would have most likely done the same were James here. 

They settled into a calm conversation then, and though Harry found himself listening more than talking, he couldn’t keep himself from smiling. 

 

* * *

 

Hogwarts from the inside, as Harry soon found out, was even more impressive than it was from the outside. 

He had heard about the halls and the moving paintings from his parents, of course, but nothing could have prepared him for the trek they made up a long flight of stairs and into a different hallway. He had _heard_ about hit from his parents, but nonetheless, the strange beauty that the halls possessed took him by surprise. The air seemed saturated with the sort of magic that only came with ancient places, and despite having planned to rejoin his brother, he only managed to stare around himself in utter awe. 

Everyone quieted down as the stern-looking witch in emerald-green robes greeted and expertly led them up the stairs. She looked like someone not to cross, not with the way she confidently held herself up, and the neat and proper way she had tied her black hair into a bun. 

Harry found himself breathless as the doors to the Great Hall opened. He felt the eyes of the rest of the students on them, and an old-looking brown hat, _‘the Sorting Hat’_ , he quickly reminded himself, broke out in song. Most of the first years seemed startled enough to quiver in their steps. 

Harry watched the sorting hat with hooded eyes. His heart was beating faster than it ever had before, and he could barely manage to concentrate on the people around him. He could only recognise Lucius Malfoy and Frank Longbottom from amongst the students sitting on the tables, having met the former a few years back after an official invitation from the Malfoy’s, and the latter on one of the times they had accompanied their parents to visit Augusta Longbottom. 

Only one table, the one at the very end of the hall, was set differently than the others. Horizontally, rather than vertically, with all of its occupants facing the great doors that led into the Great Hall. 

 _‘The teacher’s table’_ , Harry quickly realized. 

They all were sitting in silence, some more stoic and formal than others. Harry quickly noticed the commanding presence sitting at the middle of the table, he had talked to the man before, after all, his parents had invited him to their manor on a few occasions. Albus Dumbledore — the best headmaster Hogwarts had ever had, at least according to his father. The man was smiling in a kind sort of way, and Harry felt himself relax slightly at the sight of the familiar presence. 

Suddenly remembering his parent’s words, he scanned the table. They had told him that he would have to be weary of a certain teacher, one of the ones he’d have as a teacher. He looked across the table, narrowing his eyes. From the rest none of them were recognizable to him, except—

Harry’s eyes widened. _‘Him?’_ , he thought, shocked. 

It was the man he had met at Flourish and Blotts, the one that had recommended him the books on Ancient Runes and Arithmacy and that he had first seen in Abraxas Malfoy’s Hogwarts photograph. He looked exactly the same as he had in the bookstore, though if anything even more formal. He looked as if he _belonged_ on the teacher’s table, and Harry couldn’t help but feel slightly stupid for not having realized that the man should have been one. 

“He’s one of the best Defense teachers Hogwarts has ever had,” he heard a boy with brownish hair that was standing besides him whisper. “My father told me. Apparently he’s a really powerful wizard too. They went to Hogwarts together. I’ve only met him once, when he was visiting my father for some business.”

“Really?” a girl interrupted, wide-eyed. 

“Of course! Besides, he got the position only a year after leaving Hogwarts, besides,” the boy said smugly. 

“Just a year? What did he _do_?”

“He didn’t say,” the boy continued, “though it must have been something, because Dumbledore accepted him.”

The whispers faded as Dumbledore sat up and gave a few words. The stern-looking woman that had led them there, Minerva McGonagall, apparently, walked towards the wooden stool on which the sorting hat was. Seconds passed, and once names started being called Harry felt his heart beat faster. Then the first student was called, and Harry felt himself still completely. He looked at James, nervous, and felt relief wash through him as his twin gave him a nervous smile. 

“Hufflepuff!” the hat shouted. 

Applause was heard throughout the hall, though more prominently from the Hufflepuff table in particular, and just as the unknown boy started making his way towards the table another name was called. A boy, Slytherin, and then a girl, Ravenclaw. Harry stared at the sorting hat in a daze.

“Black, Sirius,” Professor McGonagall said, reading from the sheet of paper she was holding. 

The black haired boy he had met at the compartment gulped, and started walking forwards. Harry saw his twin give him a reassuring smile when he finally sat on the stool. The hat frowned, looking deep in thought, and a full minute passed before it shouted. 

“Griffindor!”

The boy smiled slightly, but the hall remained silent for a few uncomfortable seconds. Sirius was already halfway to the Griffindor table when applause finally was heard, erupting particularly strongly in the Griffindor table, whilst being scarcely heard from the Slytherin table. 

Another name was called out, and as more students stepped towards the hat to be sorted, the crowd around Harry thinned. When the red haired girl he had talked with on the boat, Lily, was sorted into Griffindor Harry couldn’t quite place the expression that the black haired boy, Snape, wore as the hat announced it. Remus looked far more scared than any of the others when his name was announced, yet he followed to Griffindor, as did Peter soon afterwards. 

By the time Harry’s name was called out, there must been only five other first years around him. Barely any people left.

“Potter, Harry,”

He gulped, and felt James give him a reassuring pat in the back. His twin was smiling, he knew. 

Harry gathered himself, trying to appear as calm as possible, and walked as securely and confidently as he could manage towards the stool. He couldn’t help but think that he must have looked quite normal, when compared to his brother, to the rest of the hall. They looked almost identical, going as far as the both of them having to wear glasses. Only Harry’s eyes — deep green — really differentiated him from James, despite the fact that they weren’t identical twins. 

Thoughts raced through his head, and he tried to maintain a neutral expression despite his nervousness. He didn’t want to accidentally embarrass himself. Harry sat on the stool, and the last thing he saw before McGonagall put the hat on his head and his eyes were dwarfed by its rim was James’ smile-turned-grin. 

“Hmm… What do we have here,” he heard a voice in his mind say. “Difficult. Very difficult. It’s been years since I last saw a mind like yours, and that sight that you have…”

Harry startled, and couldn’t stop himself from looking upwards.

“There’s talent, immense talent, ah my goodness, yes — and a deep thirst to prove yourself, now that’s interesting… A bright mind, and plenty of courage too, I see. So where shall I put you?”

Harry gripped the edges of the stool.

“A love for learning, the courage to fight for what you believe in, and the ambition to aim to do so…” Harry heard a little chuckle in his mind. “Taking all of that into consideration, then it better be… Slytherin!”

Harry heard the sorting hat’s voice scream Slytherin to the Great Hall and took the hat off his head. Putting the hat on the stool, Harry turned and went to join the Slytherin table. The hall was as silent as it had been with Sirius, he noticed, with most students staring at him strangely or with shock. Even the Slytherin students were looking at him with curiosity, though others were looking at him with something closer to distrust.

He felt heavy. Not one Potter over the last generations had been sorted into Slytherin. At least certainly none since his grandfather Henry, ‘blood traitor’, who had gotten them erased from the Sacred Twenty-Eight. 

Harry contained a sigh. What would his parents say? Would they be angry?

The rest of the sorting passed in a blur, and James was sorted into Griffindor, as expected. Harry found himself sitting besides the black haired boy — Snape — surrounded by a few first years he hadn’t taken any notice of on the way here. Amongst them was the boy that he had overheard talking before the sorting ceremony had started, who was talking to a taller, dark-haired boy besides him.

He sat through the last speech of the Headmaster, and when the Feast began, he couldn’t really muster up the energy to eat. The students around him started talking to each other, and he turned to look at James, now at the other side of the hall. He was talking animatedly with Sirius and Peter, and a few of the other people who had been sorted into Griffindor. 

When his twin finally did notice Harry staring at him, he offered him a comforting smile. Harry could practically hear what the other wanted to say: ‘don’t worry about it, it’s not the end of the world.’ 

Harry smiled, feeling grateful, and piled some food on his plate, turning to pay some attention to what other first years around him were saying. Snape seemed to be mostly quiet, observing more than talking to those around him. On the teacher’s table…

Harry turned to look at it, suddenly remembering the surprising presence of the man he had met at Flourish and Blotts. He looked confident and self-composed, if a bit bored, and seemed to be in some sort of conversation with one of the other teachers besides him.  He seemed distracted, though, and for a second Harry caught him glancing briefly around the great hall, meeting his eyes. 

He was the Defense teacher, wasn’t he? He had been nice to him in Flourish and Blotts when he had recommended him those two books, something that had really impacted Harry despite the fact that it had probably just been the polite thing to do. He had looked at him with a lot of surprise when he had seen the materials he was looking for despite his obviously being a first year, and…

“He’s been staring at you for a while, hasn’t he?” he heard someone besides him suddenly ask. Harry turned quickly, and found Snape looking straight at him. “He was doing it with all of the students that were being sorted, but ever since you were sorted he’s been looking in this directly more often.”

Harry’s eyes widened, he had noticed? “The defense teacher?” he asked. “I think I caught him looking in this direction once or twice, but…”

Snape shook his head. “No, not professor Riddle. Dumbledore.”

“Dumbledore?” Harry muttered. He turned to look at the teacher’s table, and, indeed, Dumbledore seemed to be looking at him. Harry frowned, slightly surprised, and the man simply gave a kind-hearted smile when their eyes met. 

Harry turned back, this time to face Snape. “He is looking at me…” He couldn’t figure out why — there were other interesting things in the hall, weren’t there?

“He’s been doing that for a while now,” Snape repeated.

“I wonder why, I’ve met him before, but—”

This seemed to catch the attention of the boy he had overheard talking before the sorting, who turned suddenly to face them, curiosity barely concealed.  “You’ve met him before?” he asked. 

Harry nodded and smiled. “I have! My parents invited him once or twice to our manor, he gave me some tips on things to study, helped me out a lot,” he said honestly, though deliberately avoiding specifying what it had bene on. Dumbledore had been the one to calm his parents down, as well as himself. The one that had told him that it was people’s choices, rather than their abilities, that showed how they were. 

“Impressive, I don’t think he would attend a party hosted by my family,” the other boy commented nonchalantly. 

This seemed to make the other boy realise that he hadn’t presented himself, and he swiftly offered his hand with the grace that only someone who had had to spend years taking etiquette classes could do. “I’m Alden Avery, by the way,” he said, seeming honest enough. 

Harry smiled and shook his hand. “I’m Harry Potter.”

The other boy laughed a bit at that, “we all know that, you’re the youngest Potter twin, the one that isn’t often seen outside of the Potter manor. There are a lot of rumours about you floating around certain circles.” he said contemplatively. “Quite a shock too, you ending up here. It isn’t… something you’d see every day, but then again, neither is a Black being sorted into Griffindor. Makes one wonder if the rumors are true.”

“Rumours?” Harry asked, not being able to help himself. 

“He’s practically a blood traitor, at least that’s what my father said, after meeting his parents one time,” barged in another boy. “Guess it was true in the end.”

Harry looked at him quizzically, and he offered his and as well at the unstated question. “I’m Marcus Mulciber,” he said, wearing a smile that seemed somewhat more genuine than the one Avery had had.

“But anyways, I’ve always been curious,” Avery started saying, “how is Dumbledore?”

Harry frowned, not quite knowing what the other was asking. “How he is?” he asked, trying to discern what the other was asking exactly. 

“Yes, I’ve never met the man before, not in person. I just know what my parents know about him,” Avery stated.

Harry couldn’t help but wonder why, and the curiosity must have shown on his face, because soon the boy had laughed and continued talking. 

“My parents are very close to professor Riddle,” he started saying, “my father, in particular, knew him when they were both at Hogwarts. They were friends, or so he told me. He even went with him to Hogsmeade as support, when he got an interview for the Defense position with Dumbledore.”

“That was his second interview, Alden. Dippet promised him the position after he asked for it straight out of Hogwarts, Dumbledore just gave it to him,” Mulciber then said, interrupting the other. 

“Well, yes, but that’s not really important. The fact of the matter is that since my parents are so close to Ri—, professor Riddle, that’s probably why they aren’t too close to Dumbledore in turn, even if they are cordial to one another. Simple politics, it was the same with Lucius Malfoy’s father,” the boy, Avery, continued. 

“Politics?” Harry asked aloud, not quite understanding what it was all about. The teachers had to have a good relationship with the headmaster, didn’t they?

The boy laughed, “you mean you haven’t heard? I assumed you would have, if you’re the son of Fleamont Potter.” 

Harry could practically hear the underlying follow-up comment, _‘the blood-triator’_. He had heard it a few times, mostly in relation to his father and grandfather, but had never really bothered thinking about it too much. Politics didn’t interest him, and he just knew that his parents were close to Albus Dumbledore.  

Harry shook his head, and the boy’s eyes widened in surprise. “My parents have mentioned him before, but haven’t really said much about him. At least with me around.” He had overheard plenty from them, though, and what he had overheard had made him nervous, very nervous. 

Snape seemed to look curiously at Harry, though his face was more unreadable than the poorly-concealed look of surprise that the other boys had

“But he’s one of the best defense teachers Hogwarts has ever had! One of the most powerful wizards of our time!” Mulciber one said. “And everyone knows that no matter who heads the group in the Wizengamot, he’s the real leader of the Knights of—”

Avery swiftly elbowed the other boy in the ribs, and shared a look with Mulciber that made him stop talking immediately.

“They probably just don’t like him, Marcus. You know how things are, though maybe it isn’t that well known outside of some circles,” Avery then said, and Mulciber seemed to nod at that after a few moments of thinking. 

“Yeah, it’s probably just that. It’s a shame though, he’s brilliant,” Mulciber just added. 

Harry couldn’t help but wonder what that had all been about, and he looked at Mulciber with a questioning gaze, wondering what the other had meant when he had mentioned underlying politics, but it was Snape that spoke instead. 

“They practically hate each other. No one knows why, but the two of them can barely stand the sight of each other, no matter how polite they might act to one another.”

“But,” Harry started saying, “what has that got to do with Dumbledore looking at me, or Riddle, for that matter?”

“Riddle? He was named Head of Slytherin recently, after Slughorn handed him the post. Where else would he be looking? To the Griffindors?” Avery said with something close to a sneer, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Dumbledore is probably just surprised that you were sorted here, considering who your parents are and where… That’s your twin, right? Where your twin was sorted. Everyone knows Potters are almost always Griffindor.”

Harry didn’t think it was that simple, not considering how Dumbledore had acted towards him when he had met him in the past, or how helpful he had been. He had been the one that had calmed his parents! And Riddle… Riddle…

“Besides, would he have any reason to be looking at you specifically?” Avery continued. 

Wait, hadn’t ‘Riddle’ been the last name of the teacher his parents had told him to be careful around?

“What is his full name?” Harry asked, feeling suddenly weary. 

“Who, Dumbledore’s?” Mulciber asked. 

Harry shook his head, and Snape seemed to immediately understand who he meant instead. “Thomas Marvolo Riddle,” he said. 

“He’s a half-blood,” Mulciber added. “Heard from my father that he doesn’t like his name.” Harry couldn’t help but notice the slight grimace that appeared on Snape’s face at the comment. 

“No wonder, I mean…” Avery said, confidently. He was about to continue talking when he glanced at Harry, and suddenly stopped in the middle of his sentence. 

Harry didn’t notice though, and instead felt dread wash all over him, despite the fact that he hadn’t really had a reason for fearing the man. He had treated him kindly at the bookstore, after all, and wasn’t he the one who also had… 

He glanced at the teacher’s table, and surely enough, professor Riddle was glancing his way again. As was Dumbledore. 

He suddenly felt worried, and he didn’t quite understand why. 

 

* * *

 

Before Harry knew it, the feast had come to an end and he was following a Slytherin prefect down a confusing set of halls, up to an otherwise bare-looking wall. 

The Slytherin common room had a decadent sort of beauty that reminded Harry of the Malfoy manor. It was decorated in black, silver, and several shades of green. The furniture was all in black, with highlights in greens and silver. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all stone. Several rugs were spread throughout the floor, giving the common room a welcoming feeling. There were four large fireplaces on opposite sides of the room, with multiple armchairs and couches set throughout the room. 

Harry felt himself relax, and couldn’t help but wonder how the Griffindor common room, the one James would surely be in right now, was. 

He was standing amongst a group of the other first years — altogether around eight people — at the very entrance of the common room. Snape, the only one he really recognized, standing besides him, eyes calculating. The room was mostly empty, with only a small group of older students sitting on a few of the sofas and armchairs that were around one of the fireplaces. They were talking slightly loudly, and it was easy to hear their conversation.

“I can’t believe Bella just married,” Harry heard one of the girls say, “and to Rodolfus!” one of the girls said.

“It was arranged since last year, remember how it was announced?”

“Oh, yes. I remember Narcissa talking about it. She seemed quite proud.”

“I wonder how Bella felt about it.”

“It’s a good match, Rodolphus Lestrange is…”

The girl that had led them to the common room, a fifth year prefect, was looking around for someone who must have been in that group, and her gaze quickly fixed on one of the boys in the group of older students. The chatter seemed to die down slightly as a blond boy stood up and walked towards them. 

Harry recognized him instantly, he was Lucius Malfoy. It had been a few years since he had last seen him, but the other hadn’t really seemed to change that much since his father’s funeral. He had grown, that was obvious, but other than the distinctive Malfoy Lordship ring he now wore on one of his fingers, there wasn’t that much change. 

His hair was longer, Harry supposed. 

It was only when he had joined her that she finally turned to address them, welcoming them to the house and explaining the basics and the house rules. 

Harry barely noticed himself following the boy, Lucius, down a flight of stairs and into a large-looking room with five beds once the introduction had finished. 

It was decorated similarly to the common room, with all of the same shades decorating the walls and furniture in the room. A surprisingly large window faced the door of the room, giving an ample view of a lake. The same one, Harry was sure, they had travelled through by boat to get there, and he could see a school of fish swam near the window. To a side of the room five beds, and a few wardrobes and desks nearby. 

Despite the darkness outside, a pale light managed to find its way into the room, illuminating the silvers and greens and dark wooden furniture in a rather beautiful way. It wasn’t exactly as opulent as the common room, but it still managed to be in its own right. Their suitcases had already been placed in front of their beds, and Harry immediately spotted his own, marked with a clear ‘H.P.’, on one of the sides. 

“Your owls have been left at the Owlry,” Malfoy said, voice neutral and formal. “Don’t hesitate to contact one of the prefects or myself if you need any help with a problem. Slytherin takes care of its own, never forget that.”

The others only nodded, with Harry only doing so absentmindedly. 

Lucius focused on Harry for a few seconds before leaving, and Harry immediately decided to change into his pajamas. He was tired, and imagined that going to sleep early could only do him good the next morning. He didn’t want to be late, and he felt too tired to explore the room or put his things in order. That could wait for the next day, he decided.

Avery seemed to take a similar decision to Harry, and he saw the other boy change quickly before heading to bed whilst talking to Mulciber. Snape seemed to take the exact opposite decision, and Harry saw the black-haired boy immediately start unpacking his trunk to put everything in order. The fifth kid, one that had been silent at the feast, ‘Stebbins’, Harry thought, seemed to start doing the same thing. 

Harry closed the curtains surrounding his bed and felt himself fall asleep, his last thought before doing so being that he would have to make sure to head to the owlry the next day to visit Hedwig as soon as possible. 

James too, of course.


	4. Chapter 4

The first days of the term proved to be more interesting and challenging than Harry had imagined, though not as difficult as he had initially expected. He knew it would most likely soon change, that over the next months he’d likely be buried under the amount of work he would have to do, but he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of excitement at the thought of the new material he would be able to cover.

They had received a clear warning on the morning of their first day by one of the prefects: they were expected to be on time to every class. It was their duty as Slytherins, so they had said, to make a good impression on their teachers. ‘Slytherins took care of their own’, the prefect had said, and they were to ensure that they and their dorm mates got in time to class. 

They had helped the first years find their way for the first few days, something for which Harry was grateful. Hogwarts was enormous, and he was sure that he would have ended up getting lost whilst trying to find his classes more than once.  

He had somehow managed to make it in time to all of his classes, however, thanks exclusively to his dorm-mates ensuring he was awake in time. Something which wouldn’t have happened otherwise, particularly for the morning ones. On the whole being a considerable feat, particularly with the size of the castle and how foreign it seemed. Still, he could hardly wait to be able to start exploring the castle. There at least had to be some secrets to discover.

Classes he had found as frustrating as he had found them interesting, and he figured it would only be a matter of getting used to the different study dynamics. He had grown used to studying by himself at the manor’s library, with practically no other people around him other than James. Instead, now, he had found himself always seated next to one of his dorm mates rather than his twin, no matter how hard he tried. He was always five minutes early to each class, arriving at the same time as Snape, whilst his twin somehow managed to be late to every single class during the first week. Arriving ten to fifteen minutes into the class together with Sirius and Peter, with his uniform a mess and and breathless. 

Harry couldn’t quite understand how James could manage it so constantly, particularly after the first days and the layout of the castle started to become clear to most of the first years. 

Did the Gryffindor prefects not show the first years the way to the classes?

The first class Harry had that week was Herbology with professor Sprout, and though he felt that it had the potential to be an interesting class, he hadn’t been all that interested in the subject. He had made sure that he had finished the essay that had been set on the first class immediately, but he had found himself somewhat distracted. Wishing to be reading and studying something else instead. 

Charms with professor Flitwick had been more interesting, even though it had all had to do at first with the theory behind charms rather than practical work. A theory that he already knew thanks to having read up beforehand some of the material in the book they had been set. Still, he was sure that once they got to more practical spells and theory, rather than the very basics of the subject, it’d all turn and become more interesting. 

Transfiguration had been far more interesting, and he had to admit that he quite liked it. After a bit of theory at the beginning of the class, McGonagall, the teacher that had taken them to the great hall on their first day, had handed all of the students a match, and told them to turn it into a needle. Harry had quickly studied the spell she had given them, pointed his wand at the match, and stared in half-shock as absolutely nothing happened. Nothing. Nothing at all. 

It had been supposed to turn into a needle, so why hadn’t it? What was the difference between this, and the other spells he had tested on his own? He knew his actions had been the same, and that he had said the spell correctly. 

So why was the match still a match?

The answer had only really come to him after he had seen his brother attempt the same spell, getting instant results, and being the first one in their class to be able to transfigure the match into a needle. McGonnagal had been delighted at the quick transfiguration, and promptly explained that it had been quite some time since she had seen someone manage it on his first try. 

Harry had still been looking at the match when he finally realized. Standing up, partly due to the surprise at how _obvious_ it really was and how it had really had to do with what McGonagall had explained at the beginning of the class. 

It was a matter of will, of understanding what the match and the needle _were_. A matter of _willing_ it to change into a needle, and not just that, but wanting it to _be_ a needle. 

Trying it again, Harry had this time said the spell whilst focusing on his will, and how he wanted the match to be a needle. One or two seconds went by, and to his surprise and delight, the match swiftly became a needle. 

“Well done as well, Mr. Potter,” professor McGonagall had immediately said. “Now try turning it back into a match.”

Achieving the second transfiguration had taken a while, but Harry succeeded in achieving the transfiguration by the end of the class, managing a time that just lagged slightly behind his brother’s. 

He wondered if James was a natural. 

The congratulatory grin that James shot him at the end of the class, however, had Harry happy, truly happy, for the rest of the day. 

The History of Magic class was the one class to quickly become his most hated. He had studied some of the material before at the manor’s library, and had been excited at the possibility to delve deeper into the subject, but it quickly became clear that it was the single completely useless class he would have to take. 

The teacher — a ghost — seemed to be eternally lost, and not even know what class he was teaching. He would simply float through the walls or door and start talking about some goblin war, not even telling them the specific details of the war or even which one. 

Harry hated it, and after thirty minutes of attempting to pay attention to the lecture, he had decided to follow Severus’ example and start studying or do work for any of his other classes. 

Potions, on the other hand, he decided he quite liked. He wasn’t sure about what to think of professor Slughorn yet, but the man seemed to be mostly affable and passionate about the subject. He would explain things with enthusiasm in the class, answering in sufficient detail any of the questions that the students asked or could have. He seemed to be fair to students no matter what their house was — perhaps a good thing considering that Slytherin was paired up with Gryffindor for potions. 

Harry was thankful for having read up on the year’s curriculum after he had purchased the books from Flourish and Blotts, or he would have struggled slightly to keep up at the beginning. A fate that his brother, however, had suffered. It wasn’t that James was _bad_ at potions, the tutoring the had received over the years at least prevented his twin from doing anything less than an acceptable potion, but it was clear that he was slightly overwhelmed.

Harry had had to mentally debate whether to offer help to his twin in the form of tutoring after an unfortunate event during their second potion’s class of the week, where the potion he had been working on with Peter Pettigrew had exploded. Making him partly glad that he himself was paired up with Severus Snape.

He wondered whether James would accept his offer at all, even if he did. He knew his twin had his pride, and wasn’t sure whether he would accept help from his youngest brother if offered in front of his friends. 

He would offer help nonetheless, going by how James seemed to be barely scraping by already. 

Then there was the sudden physical distance he found with between him and his brother, which somehow was the hardest thing Harry had encountered over the first week. It felt strange and foreign, and not having James in close proximity every morning had started to mess Harry up ever so slightly. 

He wasn’t entirely sure about how to feel about it. For the first time in his life he was sharing a dorm with _other people_ , people that he hadn’t met before, and were oh so different from him. What was he to think? 

He was grateful to Snape for helping him wake up on a few occasions, and even Avery for indirectly making sure each day he was awake early enough to at least not arrive late to class. 

Other than that, however, he hadn’t found himself talking to his dorm mates all that often. It wasn’t unpleasant, and he could tell that the other boys were being polite to him, but there seemed to be a certain distance that immediately set in the minute they left the dorm and set out on the hallways. At least, that was, between him and Avery, Mulciber, and Stebbins. 

Snape, however, had been completely different.

They hadn’t talked much at all, all things considered, but Harry had quickly found himself quite at ease around the black haired boy. He seemed to be rather closed off to other people, as well as bitter and calculating. Despite that Harry had often found himself in an companionable sort silence with the other boy both in their common room and at the great hall. Additionally often sitting together with the other boy in their classes, with Potions standing out as a subject where they seemed to have worked together surprisingly well. Particularly after they had organized and agreed on the way to proceed at the beginning of class. 

Snape could be cold and calculating, as well as bitter, but he also was someone Harry had found quite reliable, both in their dorm and during classes, as well as hard working and intelligent. Despite the amount of sarcasm the black haired boy covered his thoughts and words with, Harry couldn’t really fault or dislike him for it. They worked well together in class, and the company of Snape — Severus — on their way to class, even if silent, was welcome. 

The other first years hadn’t so much as touched him or done anything to him, and it hadn’t taken Harry long to notice the cold stares coming from some of the older Slytherins. The looks of distrust and those that seemed to have a more calculating and scheming nature. 

He didn’t understand what caused it, though he had his suspicions. He had wondered how he would be received considering what other pureblood families seemed to think of his grandfather, Henry Potter. 

He had decided to ignore it for the moment, as well as any comments any of the older years shot at him, even the ones from Evan Rosier, to focus on observing his new environment and adapt to it. He needed to find out how the Slytherin house worked, especially if the older years didn’t seem to like him. Only then would he decide what to do.

What had been bothered Harry the most, however, had to be the surprisingly little contact he had had with James. 

Sure, Harry had made a point of seeking him out every morning to talk. Having even gone as far as sitting at the Gryffindor table on a couple of occasions over breakfast, much to the shock and disgusted looks that his housemates had given him for it. His twin wasn’t ignoring him, he knew, but he always seemed to be with Sirius and Peter during breakfast or meals. Even at the hallways. 

It would all be alright though, Harry knew. 

 

* * *

 

Harry’s face lit up with excitement when he saw his parent’s owl fly into the great hall during breakfast. A pale and rather large barn owl he had gotten quite used to spending time with at home over the years, distinctive and utterly recognisable. 

It was possibly the strangest thing that happened to him all week.

He had owled a letter to his parents on the first day of classes, talking about everything that had happened. Harry’s face lit up in excitement as soon as he saw the familiar-looking owl, only to quickly morph into one closer to confusion when the bird had instead flown past both him and James. Landing in front of the headmaster instead.

The bird had flown back up and away from the hall immediately after the letter had been delivered, and Harry could only feel confusion at the strange situation that had suddenly presented itself. What had it been doing there? 

He had detailed everything he could to his parents, he had promised to, after all, and he was sure that they’d want to hear the details of how the first days at Hogwarts had been like. He hadn’t received a howler after his being sorted into Slytherin, unlike poor Sirius, so why hadn’t their family owl stopped by his or James’ tables?

Harry managed to talk to James by the end of that same day. 

He had seen his twin leave accompanied by his friends and had quickly rushed the very last remnants of the food he had served himself before rushing towards him, an action that earns him disguised looks of disapproval by some of the Slytherins on his table.

“Harry!” James had said as way of greeting, grinning and quickly hugging Harry as soon as he was close enough. They hadn’t really had a chance to talk that day, after all. 

“Is something wrong’” his twin had finally asked.

“I was wondering… Did you see father’s owl fly into the great hall this morning? It went to Dumbledore’s table, but didn’t stop by ours, and I know that we both sent letters to our parents yesterday.”

James only stared. So he hadn’t noticed their family owl, then. 

“It did?” James said, as a frown started to form. “I honestly didn’t think they’d reply this soon, to be honest. We probably both wrote letters that were quite long.”

“I know, but don’t you think it’s a bit strange?” Harry asked. He definitely thought so. After all, what could be urgent enough to merit sending a letter to Dumbledore after only one day? “I was sorted into Slytherin and professor Dumbledore apparently kept looking at me during the feast, so I thought…”

“He did?” James ask with a certain incredulity in his voice. 

“Yes! One of my dorm mates, Snape, told me he kept glancing at me, and…” Harry couldn’t help but feel slightly nervous at the memory of the feast. He had seen with his own eyes how they had both glanced at him, and…

“Snape…? It must have been a mistake, why would Dumbledore do that?” James interrupted. “Besides, even if he did, he probably was just glad to see you were well. I mean, we’ve both met Dumbledore before!”

“I know, but, what if it was something different? Professor Riddle kept glancing at me too during the feast,” Harry replied.

“Professor Riddle?” James muttered, as if asking a question. “He was looking in your direction during the feast?”

“I think he was, I know he was,” Harry answered. “I caught him once, too, though he is my Head of House, so I imagine it could have just been that, right?”

“I’m not sure, Harry, I know mum and dad don’t trust the man. And you saw how mum looked when Ollivander said he apparently has the twin to your wand,” James muttered. He looked more concerned by the minute. “Perhaps you should tell Dumbledore about it, just in case.”

“Dumbledore? Why? Professor Riddle hasn’t done anything yet, right?” Harry asked, honestly curious. Nothing had happened yet, right? Having the headmaster and his head of house looking in his direction probably didn’t mean anything, or at least that’s what he had wanted to think.

“If mum and dad don’t trust him, it’s probably for a good reason, Harry, and you know that they told you to be wary of him at the station. You told me.” James was fully frowning now, and didn’t quite seem to understand what Harry was going on about. “Besides, Ollivander said that he had done some dark deeds.”

“I know mother and father did, but really, what could he possibly have done that is bad enough to merit panic at him looking at me? I know that Avery told me that he is the leader of some political group, and that he isn’t in good terms with Dumbledore, but…”

“Because of your power, Harry!” James nearly shouted. “You know what dad and mum talked about with Dumbledore, and why they’ve been so worried. You never know when someone bad might try to use you for it, and if professor… Riddle is evil, you have to be careful.”

“He hasn’t done anything to me yet, though, James. He’s my head of house, for merlin’s sake. The only time I talked to the man, he recommended me two books, why should I be weary of someone like that?”

“You just told me he is the leader of a political group that hates Dumbledore, Harry! Why do you think? You know you must be careful!” James replied back. “In fact, you probably should tell Dumbledore about anything that he tells you about, just in case. He’s the only one you can trust.”

Harry was starting to feel angry, but he didn’t let it show. James didn’t seem to understand, or even want to. He tried to keep his tone of voice as steady and neutral as possible. “James, I was more curious about why our parents wouldn’t reply to us before replying to Dumbledore. Not about… this! I already know, mother and father keep repeating it to me and—” 

James sighed at that, seeming to deflate at that. “I know, sorry, Harry. I’m just worried that something bad could happen to you.”

“I know, I know. Sorry, you’re probably right,” Harry said.

James looked up at him and gave him a small, encouraging smile. “But don’t worry about it, Harry. They probably just had an urgent thing to inform Dumbledore of, you know how they are in close contact and all.”

Harry smiled, feeling his mood lift. 

“Besides, it’s most definitely not something to do with you being sorted into Slytherin! You know that mum and dad wouldn’t care about something as silly as that.” James was grinning now, and Harry felt grateful for it at the memory of the howler that Sirius Black had received. 

Harry smiled. “Thank you, James. You’re right.”

He felt calmer now, to a degree. He probably had been thinking too much about seeing his parent’s owl, but he couldn’t shake off how unnerving it had been to be looked at by both the headmaster and the defense professor. 

 

* * *

 

Professor Riddle’s black robes fluttered behind him dramatically as he swept into the classroom. Polished shoes clicked rhythmically on the stone floor as the professor made his way to the front of the room, Harry’s green eyes glued to him. 

He looked exactly like he had at Flourish and Blotts, but his presence seemed to be totally difference from that moment. It was more blatantly and openly confident, if also more charming. Harry immediately understood why they had been advised to arrive to their Defense classes as soon as possible by some second years 

“So he’s a very strict teacher?” Stebbins had asked, his eyes surprisingly wide and curious. 

“I wouldn’t say so, not exactly,” the second year had said with a certain touch of awe in his voice. “His class is, by far, the most interesting out of everything else here. His approach to the subject and the way he teaches it…  He is strict, but not in a particularly bad way. He is miles ahead of any professor that came before him. He even organizes an extracurricular Defense and Dueling club for all students, as well as those that wish to learn more about the subject.”

It was written all over the man’s posture, on how his dark eyes scanned the group of first years before even considering starting to speak, and how he pursed his lips in a silent show of determination. Harry couldn’t help but think back on his first read of the man, however basic it had been, and what the face reading theory he knew told about him. His temperament and intelligence… he was a visionary, and it showed with his every move within the class. 

His voice was charismatic and smooth, and the glint of confidence in the man’s eyes was hard for Harry to miss. “My name is professor Riddle, and I’ll be your Defense Against the Dark Arts over the coming years.” 

The class remained in total silence as the professor started writing the subject’s name alongside his own on the blackboard, “you can refer to me Professor Riddle, or Professor or Sir.” 

Harry was nervous, he had to admit. Both for how this subject would be — Defense had sounded like one of the most interesting subjects in the curriculum — and because of the man teaching it. He hadn’t had any contact whatsoever with his Head of House, and just really knew what he had been told by other students in that regard. But then there also was what he had heard from his parents, and if what he had read of the man was correct…

Harry gulped, steeling himself. He had been glancing at him over dinner during the first day’s feast, and he supposed that James could be on point about it being something to worry about. Especially considering the warning that this parents had given him. 

He had to be weary around this man, but why? An intelligent visionary, confident beyond any reasonable measure, by the looks of it…

Harry glanced down at his Defense textbook and blank parchments. Perhaps it would be best if he could get a better reading of the man, discover more about him and then make a decision on whether to increase, maintain, or forego weariness. He had to discover how the man thought before deciding on how he’d be able to advance. He knew his parents must have had a reason to give him a warning, but Harry knew he had to study the situation and understand it on his own. 

The question was how to get a reading on him, how to get himself to _see_ something related to the man. 

Palmistry would probably be out of the question, people didn’t usually offer things like that unless they specifically wanted to hear a reading of the lines in the palm of their hand, and it always required a minimum level of confidence. A level of confidence he honestly doubted professor Riddle would give him immediately. Particularly if, as he had been told by Avery, his parents were political enemies of the man. He just didn’t come off as that trusting of anyone.

Fire-omens would likely be too future-related, and not that close to what he was interested in seeing, he wanted a glance at the man’s true character. Future events could reveal many things, but the figures he could see and read in the fire could be too incomplete. Motives could often be left out, and, even just like his dream of Abraxas Malfoy’s illness, important side information could easily be left out. 

That either left face-reading again, which he still wasn’t exactly proficient on, or other types of divination, which Harry knew supposed a problem. Cristal-gazing wouldn’t show him exactly what he wanted, in all likeliness, and reading tea leaves would likely leave him without similar control. No, the object of using those divination techniques was not really intended to be _that_ focused, and would likely leave Harry without questions. 

There weren’t any other divination techniques that he was proficient in, or had really come to learn yet. Perhaps catoptromancy, mirror-gazing…

It would probably hold the same result as reading fire-omens and leave Harry without really being able to control what he was seeing, though he would perhaps get results if he was to look into the black surface of a scrying mirror. See _something_ about professor Riddle that revealed an important detail about him, about the man that had the twin of Harry’s wand. 

Not that he had _exactly_ tested out mirror-gazing or catoptromancy before, but he was familiar enough with the theory and knew how to use scrying mirrors. It would just be a matter of acquiring one. The visions that he saw in the mirror’s surface would be out of his control, but…

Harry frowned. It was a tempting idea, though he wondered how much he would really come to be able to understand the enigmatic professor. He was someone of importance, going by his parents warning and Avery’s comments, that much was clear. He had to find out more about the man and his character, and there seemed to be no surefire ways to discover everything he wanted to know from a distance, which left…

Harry gazed back up at the Defense professor, who now was standing before the blackboard in a rather smooth way.

“I would like to first take a moment to explain what Defense Agains the Dark Arts is, to avoid any future confusion and make the purpose of this subject clear,” he started saying. His voice was smooth, with an underlying _something_ that made the man’s words horribly nice to listen to, capturing one’s attention almost instantly. 

Riddle straightened himself, and gestured towards the words that he had just written. “Defense Against the Dark Arts,” he started, “as it’s name suggests, is focused on teaching students how to defend themselves from dark magic, spells, and creatures.”

“Of course, this has one main flaw, which is disregarding defense against light magic and spells. Under the right circumstances, these could be just as damaging as dark magic.” He paused to look at the group of first year Slytherins and Griffindors, and only continued after a few seconds. “This is why, ever since I came to be in control of the curriculum of this subject, I expanded the subject to not only just deal with defense _against_ dark arts, but also against light spells.”

None of the other students seemed distracted, Harry noticed, and all seemed to be paying an amazing amount of attention to the professor. Some Slytherins in particular, however, and even more particularly Avery and Mulciber, seemed to be even more focused on what professor Riddle was saying. Going as far as already being noting down what the man was saying right now. 

“When you enter the real world and are out of Hogwarts you will likely encounter both dark spells and light spells cast at you, perhaps malevolently.” He seemed calm whilst speaking, and his voice still retained the same smooth and charming quality that it had at the beginning of the class. 

“In order to survive these situations and correctly handle them, you will need an extensive knowledge of defense against _both_ types of magic. Which is why this subject is focused not only on dark magic, but also on light magic,” he said, finally finishing.

A few seconds went by as he observed the class before he spoke again. “Does anyone have any questions?” he asked. 

A Griffindor girl that Harry recognized as the one that had sat with his brother, Pettigrew, and Black on the boat ride raised her hand. 

“Yes miss…?” Riddle asked

“Mary, Mary MacDonald,” the girl said. “Does this mean we will practice dark magic in class?” she asked, her voice making her sound as if she was honestly offended and confused at what the professor had just said. She didn’t seem very bright, at least she certainly didn’t in Harry’s eyes. 

Riddle stared at her with another expression that revealed nothing. “Of course not, Miss MacDonald; Hogwarts’ position on such spells is perfectly clear.”

Mary MacDonald’s expression seemed to relax after professor Riddle spoke those words, an Mulciber and Avery shared a look. Besides him, Snape — Severus — looked impassive, but interested. 

“Of course, a knowledge of how the spells _work_ is necessary in order to combat them, which is what I will be partly teaching you over the next coming years. In addition, of course, to light magic spells, and how to combat them.”

Professor Riddle looked expectantly at the class again, waiting to see if anyone had any more questions. No one raised their hands, and this prompted professor Riddle to repeat himself as he readied himself to continue with the lesson. 

He leaned onto the teacher’s desk, half-sitting son its surface. “No more questions?” he asked. 

Harry found himself raising his hand, and professor Riddle’s gaze turned towards him. He looked focused, but calm, and Harry immediately saw a spark of recognition on the professor’s eyes. 

“Yes, Mr. Potter?” professor Riddle asked.

“Will the class be mainly centered around theory or practice, Sir?” Harry asked. 

He was curious on which side the class would focus on, and whether they would practice much at all over the coming months, or their first year. How much would they learn?

Riddle observed him for a few seconds, expression unreadable, before responding. His eyes, shining with that ever present strange red glint, completely focused on Harry.

“Neither, Mr. Potter. Whilst in order to understand defense knowledge of the theory behind it — particularly as relating to dueling theory, stances, and other similar matters — is necessary, purely focusing just on this theory wouldn’t be sufficient. A sufficient arsenal of spells, both defensive and offensive, is required as well,” he started saying. 

“Of course, the opposite is true as well. Purely having a high level of knowledge and ability of offensive and defensive spells isn’t sufficient, one must understand the theory behind Defense, as well as tactics, in order to be successful. Devotion to only one aspect of defense will usually lead to too much specialization, which can be dangerous against certain types of enemies.” He was speaking with a noticeable glint in his eyes, as well as seemingly hidden excitement or passion in his voice, and Harry couldn’t help but wonder at the discovery. It was obvious that the man was passionate about the subject. 

“Because of this, Defense Against the Dark Arts will focus on both theory _and_ practice, as focusing exclusively on either would not prepare you for the real world.”

Not a sound was heard from the first year students, and Harry nodded. 

“If there are no more questions then, and before I start by detailing the topics that will be taught this year in this class, I would like to make a further announcement,” he continued saying. The class stared in silence, and Harry felt curiosity bubbling up within him. Not a single student said a word. 

“As you might have heard, I organise two extracurricular clubs open to all students interested in defense. One focused on dueling, both in terms of gaining practice and understanding it, and a more general defense club, where further spells and practice would be available for all.”

This time it was Mulciber that raised his hand. He looked excited, despite the calm mask he had been attempting to wear all day long. 

“Yes, Mr. Mulciber?” professor Riddle said.

“Would we be able to attend both, Sir?” Harry’s dorm mate asked. 

“You all will, though not quite as you imagine. Dueling is, by staff agreement, reserved in its practice for second year students and above,” Riddle started saying. “Though you would be able to attend the dueling club and witness the practice sessions and lessons that take place there, you wouldn’t be able to partake yourselves.”

Harry’s eyes widened. Whilst it was a shame they wouldn’t be able to participate just yet, he could understand the motives behind it. They didn’t know _any_ real spells yet. However, they were allowed to attend, and would be able to at least learn some theory before their second year…

Harry felt himself slightly giddy with excitement at the thought. How useful could such a club be?

“The Defense club, however, will be another matter entirely, and, like in previous years, will be divided up by skill level. Any student of any year will be able to attend, and practice, if they so wish to.”

It was Avery that raised his hand this time. 

“Yes, Mr. Avery?”

“When will the sign up sheets be available, Sir?” Harry’s other dorm mate asked. He sounded as formal as anyone humanly could, face and eyes betraying nothing as his upbringing and education shined through. For how little they had talked together, Harry had to admit that he quite liked how formal and polite Avery was towards those he was cordial with. It felt almost refreshing and familiar, in a manner of ways.

“Not yet, Mr. Avery, though sign up sheets will be available later on this term. I will make an announcement during classes once this happens.”

Avery nodded, and the class finally quieted down completely. There were no more questions. Professor Riddle fully stood up, walked way from the teacher’s desk on which he had been sitting, and turned towards the blackboard again.

“Since there now are no more questions, I would like to take this chance to start detailing the topics you will cover and I will teach you this y—”

The door of the classroom barged open, and three students nearly ran into the class. Professor Riddle turned around to look at them with an unmistakable look of annoyance in his otherwise impassive face. 

Harry’s eyes widened.

“Sorry we’re late, Sir! We—” 

James looked breathless, his uniform messy as he clutched beneath one of his arms the textbook they had been set, a quill, and several rolls of parchment. Besides him were Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew, looking similarly exhausted. By the way all three of them were panting it was obvious that they must have run all the way up to the tower where the defense class with professor Riddle took place, and by the bags under their eyes…

Several of the Slytherins in the room snorted, whilst some others barely managed to contain their laughter, and Black glared in the Slytherin’s direction. Harry barely managed to contain his amazement. How had James managed to do this almost consistently throughout the first week?

Professor Riddle raised an eyebrow, his expression otherwise stern. “Perhaps, Mr. Potter, acquiring a pocket watch would prove significantly useful? That way either Mr. Black, Mr… Pettigrew, or you might be on time.” 

Pettigrew seemed to cower at the gaze of the teacher, whilst James and Sirius looked more bashful than anything else.

“We got lost, Sir,” James said apologetically.

Professor Riddle observed them impassively. “A map then, perhaps? That way you might stop getting lost.” 

Another snort, this time from Mulciber, followed, and Harry saw Sirius glare in the other boy’s direction. 

“I trust you won’t have any problems finding your desk,” professor Riddle finally said, turning around again to face the blackboard. “Now, to resume the topic in discussion before the class was interrupted…”

Harry looked at James, as he along with Sirius and Peter went to the only empty seats that remained in the room and sat down. He could see the annoyance in his brother’s expression plain as day between all the bashfulness, and Sirius looked ready to criticize their Defense professor. 

The class that followed, however, ended up being the best out of all of the ones Harry had attended that week. Professor Riddle went on to explain with a grace that shouldn’t have been possible all of the topics and spells that would be covered throughout the year. Then going on to start with the very basics of Defense and its theory in a way that shouldn’t have been as interested as it was. 

When he went to the library during lunch that period, the first defense class was still fresh in his mind. It would probably end up being his favourite subject, he couldn’t help but think. Particularly if professor Riddle continued in the line he had said he would.

Professor Riddle…

The man seemed like a normal, albeit really good, teacher. One of the fantastic ones one was lucky to sometimes have. He seemed passionate and dead-serious about the subject, if overly formal and strict. Harry couldn’t forget everything that he had heard about the man, or how he had seemed to be at Flourish and Blotts. 

He also hadn’t so much as paid the sort of attention that he had seemed to have paid to him over the welcoming feast, and Harry didn’t know what to make of it. In fact, the opposite had seemed apparent instead. The defense professor hadn’t really paid attention to him at all, other than what one could come to expect from a teacher. 

He could still remember how the other man had gazed at him, as well as how Dumbledore had done so as well, but he had only really glanced at him a few times over the class, one of them when he had asked a question. 

It seemed contradictory, or at least contradicted some of what he had been told. Perhaps Avery was right after all, as had he when he had told James just the night before that it was natural for Riddle to look at him, he was his head of house after all. However… 

Harry frowned as he silently walked out of the classroom, confused, and absentmindedly followed Snape to the Great Hall, they both wanted to get something to eat. He knew he was too distracted, and probably thinking too hard about everything.

As he sat down on the Slytherin table, he quickly took out the copy of ‘Ancient Runes Made Easy’ that he had brought with him, and continued reading it from where he had left off the night before, eating through his lunch slowly. Snape did the same, seemingly having decided to attempt getting ahead of his schoolwork. Avery and Mulciber trailed behind them, and soon settled down besides them, talking.

 

* * *

 

Harry quickly took to spending time at the Hogwarts library during his free time, and by the time that the Thursday of the first week had rolled in, it was already a habit. James was sometimes hard to find, and the library seemed to offer a sort of peace that he could hardly manage to find anywhere else in the castle. 

The library had to be one of the most amazing places and rooms he had gotten to know. The amplitude it offered, with clear and big desks, amazed Harry every time he entered the room. As did the surprisingly big and clear windows, particularly because of the views they offered of the terrains surrounding Hogwarts, as well as the bright light it allowed into the room. The tall, book-filled bookshelves seemed imposing and wonderful all at once, and Harry couldn’t help but feel at home the second he first entered the room.

He also, however, couldn’t help but feel slightly lonely.

He hadn’t felt lonely back home, and though he could spend hours with Hedwig at the owlry whilst preparing work for his classes or reading, it was… different. If here were honest, it didn’t _really_ bother him, though he found the loneliness he had started to feel tedious. He longed for someone to truly spend time with on a daily basis, to talk about interesting things with — not just Quidditch or classes. Someone to keep him _interested_ and talk to. 

It had been at the end of his first Thursday at Hogwarts, after both what was their last class for the day and their last Potions class for the week, that Harry found someone just like that. Though he supposed he technically already knew her, having met her on the boat ride on the first day of term. Harry had never really expected to find the red-haired muggleborn girl to be as interesting as she quickly proved to be, or as enjoyable to be around. 

It had almost been dinner time, and the library had surprisingly been half-full when Harry had decided to retreat to the room in order to start researching one of the first essays they had been set for the week. A potions essay, more specifically, on the basic theory that Slughorn had been teaching them over the first two classes. Meant, according to the professor, to aid them as both an introduction to the subject as well as to guide them through the materials they had covered in the first classes.

The sooner he had it done, Harry figured, the sooner he would be able to continue studying runes. He had barely managed to advance at all with the book that professor Riddle had recommended, yet despite its difficulty and the few pages he had been able to go through he had quickly found the subject fascinating. Unlike anything that he had studied before, and potentially useful in ways that he couldn’t quite manage to grasp. 

It had been almost too much to tackle the first time he had attempted to read the book in his dorm. The concepts it introduced and some of the language had been too advanced for him, and too unlike the language that divination books seemed to use. It couldn’t be any more unlike divination or his dreams — there barely seemed to be any interpretation involved whatsoever, and instead it seemed… different. Fascinating and interesting. 

The thought of the things one could use runes for had managed to kept him going even despite the difficult start. After all, James had been partially right, and his parents had told him early on. Harry had to be ready for whatever he would have to confront, and he never knew when a piece of knowledge, however obscure, would save his life. He couldn’t afford to accidentally miss something that could become useful later on. 

Harry had managed to arrive at the library just in time, and had quickly started reading a book on basic potions he had checked out earlier that day. He had somehow managed to reach the library just in time to avoid the post-dinner rush of students and acquired an empty table in one of the more deserted areas of the library. He hadn’t been surprised when a few minutes after opening the potions book he had heard someone walk up to him, and already knew what the other student would ask. 

“Are the other seats free?” the girl asked with a kind smile, after seeing that Harry was looking up at her. 

He immediately recognized her. 

Lily Evans. He had seen her in some of his classes, and had overheard Evan Rosier talking about her once or twice in the Slytherin common room, albeit not in particularly good a fashion.

She was carrying a rather heavy-looking bag filled up to the brim with books that it looked she had just checked out, alongside some parchment that she seemed to have already been writing on. Her thick, dark red hair fell neatly onto her shoulders, and her green eyes seemed to be twinkling with a sort of happiness that Harry couldn’t exactly place. 

“They are, have a seat,” Harry smiled. “The library seems to always be quite full at this time.”

“Thank you, it really does,” the girl said. “I normally sit with Severus in here, but he doesn’t seem to be around.”

She soon was sitting on the seat in front of his, taking out some of the books she had piled inside her bag, and Harry had quickly noticed the rather distinctive-looking ‘One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi’, by Phyllida Spore. 

“Are you working on the Potions essay Slughorn set today?” the girl asked, voice now barely above a whisper, once she saw the book Harry had opened. 

Harry had nodded as a way of reply, smiling, and Lily had quickly done the same as she opened the Herbology textbook she had taken out. 

“I wanted to finish the Herbology essay before I tackled the Potions one, but it’s ended up taking slightly longer than what I first thought it would.”

“Having trouble with the subject?” Harry asked, curious, mind going back to the book he’d be able to go back to reading once he was done with this essay. 

Lily half nodded at that. “It’s been a bit too much to take in at first, though I think I’m getting used to it now. It’s the first time I’ve ever had to study anything like that.”

Harry couldn’t exactly blame her, the first lessons hadn’t made it seem like a class that could become one of his persona favorites, and he couldn’t help but wonder how much attention he’d be able to pay to it other than the minimum required to do well in the class. He supposed starting the subject would have been a lot worse had he not read in advance parts of the textbook they had been set for the year, or if he hadn’t known about magic beforehand. 

“It’s all very interesting though! I can hardly believe I’m getting the chance to study and… learn all of this. That I can get this opportunity.” She seemed to radiate honest excitement at the very thought. “Even though Severus is probably the only reason why I’ve managed to keep up with Potions this week,” she added. 

“I suppose I can’t blame you for that. I’d be terrible if I hadn’t had tutoring before coming here,” he replied, honestly. “Even with two classes though, Snape seems to be a natural. Slughorn seemed to be really impressed.”

The girl beamed, “he does, doesn’t he? He’s been so helpful this week, I can’t imagine how things would have been if he hadn’t been there.”

Harry suddenly remembered how close they had seemed on their way to Hogwarts. They had shared a compartment, hadn’t they? “I guess you knew each other from before, right?” he asked, voicing his curiosity. 

Lily grinned, “he’s a very close friend.” She turned to look down at her hands, seemingly remembering something, and then looked at Harry again. “We’re neighbours, he was the one that told me that I was a witch, years ago.” 

The fondness that she was speaking with was evident in her voice, and Harry couldn’t place the twinge of _something_ that he felt at the realisation. He didn’t have experience talking about these sort of things, and… Perhaps he should try returning to something different and more normal. Something that didn’t feel as personal and intimate.

“I take it’s been a good week then?” asked.

The girl grinned. She was practically beaming as she nodded. It had, it seemed, and Harry chose to make no reference to the comments he had heard from Rosier in the Slytherin common room. 

The remaining time until curfew started went surprisingly quickly. Lily did most of the talking, always keeping her voice just audible enough to be heard, but not loud enough to be heard by the man that was in charge of the library, and Harry mostly listened as they both continued working on their respective essays. The silent companionship being enjoyable. 

It was easy to tell that the girl couldn’t possibly have been more excited to have started studying at Hogwarts though, and Harry had found himself surprised by how much he had felt relieved at hearing someone say the same thing he had thought. She hadn’t been bothered by Harry’s silence, and Harry couldn’t have been more thankful for that. He honestly wouldn’t have known what to really talk about for such a long period of time, and probably would have repeated himself a bit too much. Nonetheless, the girl, Lily, had seemed happy to be around him. 

They separated once curfew was about to start. Lily had seemed happy, and though she hadn’t voiced it, slightly saddened by not having been able to see Snape. 

“I’ll see you at the library soon then, Harry!” Lily said, smiling widely. 

“Of course,” Harry said, wearing a polite smile. The girl had been nothing if pleasant, and seemed studious and bright. A young witch who, despite not really knowing much about the wizarding world, was excited to learn and excel. She’d be a good person to keep around, he couldn’t help but think. Even if just to study around. 

As Harry made his way back to the Slytherin common room, he decided to make sure to seek her out at the library the next day. It could hardly be wrong to have someone around that could bring him such a feeling of peace, or that seemed that similar to himself. 

He had already taken out the Defense textbook they had been set for the year and been studying for quite some time in the dorm room by the time Snape entered, later on in the night. Avery, Mulciber, and Stebbins were nowhere to be seen. The first two presumably being in the common room, and the latter… 

Harry had to admit he had no idea where the latter boy might be or have gone to.

The other boy was looking slightly tired, though he wouldn’t have been able to guess why that could be. The black-haired boy remained silent as he sat on his mattress and pulled out a book of his own, a potions textbook that didn’t look like something set for their year. Neither of them spoke, but they soon settled into a comfortable silence as they both studied together.

It was an hour until Harry fell asleep. Yawning and closing the book, he quickly felt himself slip into a dream. Glimpses and glances of images that he didn’t quite manage to catch or get, yet somehow understood. 

Then he found himself back in the pure white train station he had found himself in during the dream he’d had during the train ride to Hogwarts, the same faceless men surrounding him. Only one was talking to him this time, however, and all of a sudden the flashes and images made full sense. 

A nightmare. Red and visceral and terrifying and—

Harry awoke with a scream. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly more descriptive chapter (sort about that), though with this ends the setting-up of the story, so things will start getting quicker from now on, as the main part of the plot is introduced. 
> 
> Thank you for all of the encouragement and support so far! Like always, the next chapter should be up in around three or four days.


	5. Chapter 5

There was no light save for the bright white that shone from the station. No sign of clear sky or even air — just white. The train station was emptier than what Harry remembered from his previous dream of this place, and the platform he was standing on was the emptiest of them all. No sound of bypassing trains, no muffled noises around him, and no distant, people-like shades. A pale, cold fog enveloped everything. Erasing the sight of everything that was far away. The only things around him were five figures, all distinctively faceless and inhuman, standing the same as the last time he had seen this station in dreams.

He was dreaming — he could tell. He was at the same train station he had dreamt of at the Hogwarts Express, and it was the same pure, luminescent white that he remembered. The same damp and hard coldness.

He had never dreamt of the same thing two nights in a row, let alone something like this. His dreams usually were composed of a variety of scenes, both of events and people talking, though he didn’t always remember what he dreamt. What he did remember, however, often ended up seeming relevant.

He had once seen a house in the muggle town that neighboured the Potter manor burn down, and it had — two months later. He had, another time, seen flashes and images of muggles in green uniforms walking into a jungle together with loud flashes, only to never come back out. He had seen a ship sink, with only some of its occupants getting to safety, and even a muggle rocket explode in the air.

Another time, he had seen a neighbouring muggleborn witch get proposed to, and another, the image of happiness in a red-haired witch’s face as she was given two equally red-haired twins.

He was used to such dreams — dreams of unknown people carrying on with their lives, going through both suffering and joy. Very rarely had he dreamt of people he knew, with only the dream he had once had of Abraxas Malfoy standing as a clear exception to this. He had never dreamt of a place as strange as this before, however, and yet here he was. 

Harry started standing up from where he had been laying on the cold floor, and looked at the unknown and eerie group. Should he attempt to talk to one of the faceless figures?

He wouldn’t lose anything by attempting to ask them for information. “Sorry, but where am I? What is this place?”

Nothing. Not a single sound. Harry frowned, not being able to help but feeling confused. The figures were actually there, weren’t they?

An image of a street flashed through his mind, but it left as soon as it had come. “I’ve never exactly been in this station before, and—”

One of the figures suddenly came forwards, steps strangely uniform and silent, and Harry felt his frown deepen as it stopped in front of him. He was about to continue with another question when the creature looked stared, _stared,_ straight at him.

Another image, this time of a person — a man — walking, but comprehension was lost on him. He didn’t understand.

Harry’s blood froze. The creature, the _thing,_ had eyes. Merlin, it had eyes. White and colourless and _dull_ , and its arms somehow enveloping him and—

Harry suddenly found himself in Diagon Alley, its tightly-packed buildings utterly distinguishable. He couldn’t recognize the exact area within Diagon Alley, though he could tell he was very close to the main street. It was darker, the buildings seeming to be quite close to each other, giving the impression of an alley rather than a street. There were sparse groups of people around him, though he couldn’t quite seem to recognise any of the individuals in them, and Harry was immediately reminded of how the dream of Abraxas Malfoy had felt. How, though he had somewhat been in that room with the Malfoy Lord and his guests, he hadn’t actually really _been_ there at all.

The white station was completely gone, and now he had instead found himself in a more familiar dream pattern and place. This Harry understood and knew, and he couldn’t help but feel slightly more relaxed at the apparent familiarity. He was seeing something again. Something specific and accurate, something which he would completely understand. Then the dream would end, and he would either shift to something else, or find himself waking up. He couldn’t shake the slight sense of unease that the creature had given him when it had gazed towards him, however, particularly since it had caused him to suddenly find himself somewhere close to Diagon Alley.

Odd seconds went by before Harry distinctively saw a man walking into the alley, alone and looking around oddly. He was clutching a bag with a crest that seemed vaguely familiar whilst he kept looking around himself with rapid, quick movements. It was obvious that he was hiding something, but the only question was what said thing could be. He seemed to be directing himself towards one of the stores to the side, some ‘Borgin and Burkes’ that Harry didn’t remember ever seeing. A black-haired man was leaning against one of the outside walls of the store there, and all of a sudden everything became clear.

The man, whomever he was, wanted to deliver something to the man that was outside of the store. Something important, by how the man was acting, and Harry couldn’t help but feel curiosity at the thought. What could the thing be?

The man had almost reached the shady-looking store when Harry heard a loud rush of footsteps behind him. The man that had been leaning against the somewhat dilapidated wooden wall disappeared with a _pop_ , and the one that had been looking to deliver the thing, the one Harry had first seen, turned abruptly, and immediately saw a group of uniformed men at the entrance of the street.

He was surprised, going by the man’s expression, and quite obviously fearful. He looked remarkably similar to one of his dorm mates, the pale eyes and brownish hair that the man sported being practically identical to Stebbins’. Only the man’s expression seemed to really differentiate from the boy that Harry had started growing used to seeing in his dorm, and even then the familiarity was uncanny.

Harry frowned. Could it be his father? An uncle? 

“We warned you about continuing with this, Stebbins!” burly man shouted. He was tall, incredibly tall, and there was no mistaking the angry confidence with which he was speaking.

The man cowered, and clutched the bag he was carrying tighter and backed away. “It is perfectly in my right to do so, Bones. You know fully well that I didn’t know what this was until very recently. I just want to get rid of it before it brings problems,” he replied with a quivering voice.

“Then give it to us, Stebbins, nothing needs to happen here at all,” the burly man, Bones, immediately replied. He sounded desperate. “Just give the package to us peacefully, and we’ll—”

“You know I can’t do that, he—, he will…” Stebbins replied, clutching the bag even stronger. “I never wanted any part in this, I don’t want to collaborate with anyone. But if I give it to you he could hurt me or my family. You know he could! I’d be a pariah, and...”

Harry didn’t think he had ever seen anyone that scared. Around him the alley seemed even more deserted than ever before, and he didn’t know how to stand or do. He was somehow almost between the strange group of men and the father of his dorm mate, and the positioning gave him the strange sensation that all of the people he was seeing were looking straight at him. Through him. 

“We can protect you, you know that,” Bones said, this time with desperation more apparent. “Just give us the package and we’ll protect you from his influence. Hide you, so that V—”

Stebbins’ eyes widened in obvious fear, “don’t say his name that casually!” He was now fidgeting as he looked around himself nervously, as if expecting someone to suddenly appear and curse him. “You don’t now… You have no idea… If not him, his followers will…”

“Nothing will happen to you, Stebbins. If you come with us, if you give us that, _he_ will protect you.” one of the other men in the group said, his clear voice contrasting with the demeanour of the fidgeting man.

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it!” Stebbins was now shouting, fear giving way to anger and fury. “Besides, I can’t betray the trust that was placed in me when I was handed these documents, even if I didn’t know what they were about, but these… They are too important. Some of these people are my _friends_ , I can’t just…”

One of the men that was standing on one of the sides suddenly groaned and drew his wand. “For Merlin’s sake, this is taking too long. Bones, if you don’t get him to give him the documents, I’ll—!”

Bones turned, enraged, towards the man, “don’t you dare harm him, this isn’t meant to be violent and you know it.”

Stebbins backed even more steps, looking panicked as the group of them started fighting amongst themselves. He started reaching for his wand, and—

The man that had just spoken looked like he was about to add something when a purple light hit him fully on his chest, and he immediately fell onto the floor with gargled scream that filled the alley. Blood seeped into the pavement. Bones’ eyes widened, the other men cursed as they drew their own wands, and Stebbins seemed just as afraid as before.

“What did you do, Stebbins? He wasn’t going to attack you!” Bones nearly shouted. He was panicked now too, the situation was starting to spiral out of control and—

Stebbins only managed to stutter a few incomprehensible words as he gripped his wand tighter than Harry had ever seen someone do.

“You’ll pay for this, Stebbins! I knew you were a traitor, but this…!” another man shouted.

“Don’t attack him, we still can reason through this and not descend to—!” Bones said. He didn’t look confident.

“What are you suggesting, Bones? He just attacked—!”

Stebbins made a sudden slashing movement with his wand, and a streak of purple flame hit the man that had just spoken full on. The other men stopped talking amongst themselves and, suddenly, all their focus was on the terrified man. Bones cursed, took the pulse of the bleeding man, and cursed again. A beam of light shot towards Stebbins, who suddenly looked all too similar to a cornered animal, followed by a distinctive ‘ _bombarda_ ’ and an ‘e _xpelliarmus_ ’.

“Damn it!” Bones apparated away from the street with a loud _pop,_ and suddenly Harry found himself in the middle of an increasingly frenetic duel.

Beams of purple, red, and yellow shot across the street and through Harry himself at an increasingly quick pace. Another of the men fell, this time with a scream of pain that only enraged more the group of men. Before anyone knew it a beam of deep red had hit Stebbins’ fully on, and Harry could only watch as the man fell onto his knees as a deep gash appeared on his torso.

Harry’s blood froze as a thick red started falling.

“This’ll show you, you…!” One of them was shouting, and the other two men that remained from the group looked at him with shock that turned quickly into rage. A beam of deep red hit Stebbins’ again, and more blood seeped onto the stone alley as another, this time deeper, scream filled the air.

Harry had never seen anyone look that pained, that… that… He felt his heart starting to beat faster and faster as cold sweat formed, and he shivered. 

How could anyone cause that much pain to someone else? Why were the uniformed men doing nothing? The man, Stebbins, was in pain, but the two men seemed to be in shock. 

A few moments later the other uniformed men turned and cast something that petrified the man that had cursed Stebbins, and…

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds…

By the time Bones’ apparated back, this time together with two other wizards that looked like healers, Stebbins’ was almost completely still and oddly pale, and the man that had shot the red spell had been reprehended by the other two. 

Bones looked like he couldn’t believe the sight before him.

“What did you do?” Bones said. He looked horrified. “Look at what you’ve done to him! We were meant to try to convince him to join us, not… not—”

“Boss, he used an…”

Bones paled considerably, and looked at one of the two unknown wizards that had just arrived with him. “Can you… will he…?” 

The blood kept flowing, and the healer just shook his head. 

Harry screamed, Bones cursed loudly, and—

 

* * *

 

The plain white roof of the Slytherin dorms greeted Harry as he felt himself being waken up. It was still horribly dark, judging by the colour of the water on the other side of the windows, and two of his dorm mates were around him, both of them looking worried. The darkness felt somehow strident and overly bright despite the fact that Harry could barely see across the dorm room, and he found himself closing his eyes in an attempt to get the discomfort away. He had been in a street, he knew he had, yet— 

“Harry, you were screaming. Are you alright?”

Harry blinked, and it took him a few seconds before he could recognise the person that was talking to him. Snape, Severus Snape, and besides him was Mulciber, who was on the bed closest to his. Severus was frowning with obvious worry, as was the other boy. On other sides of the room, lying on their beds, were Avery and…

Harry’s eyes widened. _‘Oh.’_

“I’m alright, sorry,” Harry muttered, sounding somewhat unsure, “I’m alright.” The dream was still firmly lodged in his memory, and he was sure that if he closed his eyes he’d be able to see the beam of red and how…

Snape looked unconvinced, “are you sure? That sounded like quite a nightmare.”

“Yes, I am. Sorry if I woke you all up.” He hadn’t intended to. His dreams usually weren’t bad, but this one had been the worst he had had up to date.

The rest of the boy still looked utterly unconvinced, and as Harry muttered another phrase meant to sound convincing he avoided the eyes of the boy that slept on the bed on the wall furthest away from him. The dream was too fresh in his mind, too _real_ , and knowing he had seen the other boy’s father get attacked and die… 

None of the boys said anything, but he could see a look of sympathy in Avery’s eyes. “If you say so, Harry,” the pureblood said.

They all settled back to sleep, but Severus remained by his side for a few minutes, saying nothing. Harry couldn’t help but feel grateful for the boy’s silent companionship.

“If you need anyone to talk to, Harry,” the black haired boy said, face unreadable, “I can at least promise to listen and not reveal anything.”

Harry nodded, forcing himself to smile, “I know, and thank you, Severus. It must have sounded quite bad.”

“You were screaming, Harry. I had never seen anyone act like that whilst dreaming.”

Harry supposed he must have. His dorm mate, Stebbins, looked like he was sleeping quite peacefully again, but the red curse and all of the spells and blood… He shuddered, and shut his eyes. He needed to talk to James.

 

* * *

 

“The hold one keeps on one’s wand can, on the whole, have an enormous impact on spells, how they are cast, their power, as well as on their stance,” professor Riddle explained.

The sound of the chalk as it wrote by itself the class notes on the blackboard filled the room with a strange sort of peace. Every one of the Gryffindors and Slytherins were quickly noting down on pieces of parchment as many of the words that professor Riddle said, not a single one of them daring to break the sound made by the chalk or the man’s smooth voice.

Professor Riddle was, as they had all quickly found out and Harry hadn’t been able to help but notice, quite strict after all, though not without reason or cause. He would seemingly apply the rules somewhat ruthlessly, and demanded utmost formality and respect in his classes.

Lateness wasn’t tolerated, Harry had been told as much by older Slytherins at the common room and it had been confirmed by Avery himself, but it had quickly become clear that professor Riddle wasn’t cruel. Only a few students had arrived late to their second Defence Against the Dark Arts class, and it had quickly become clear that professor Riddle wouldn’t had any detentions during the first times a student was late, or if there had been a reasonable cause for the lateness. 

Lack of respect seemed to have much of the same treatment, and initial warnings would, as had been stated by professor Riddle himself, eventually give way to detentions. This, once enough time had passed that the type of behaviour expected in his classes had become clear. He had even given them a basic set of rules he expected, but, contrary to the warnings they had been told on the first day at Hogwarts by the Slytherin prefects, Harry hadn’t thought any of them particularly strict or cruel. Quite the opposite, in fact. They had seemed rather reasonable and fair. After all, how was one to study if people were talking amongst themselves?

Professor Riddle apparently, on top of it all, also behaved with impartiality. He didn’t seem to intentionally benefit students of any given House, and instead rewarded good answers and work well done. He probably was the best teacher Harry had ever had, better even than the tutors his parents had gotten him and James before Hogwarts.

“A hold that is too loose can give greater flexibility, but often lead to incorrect movements and even to accidentally drop it,” Riddle continued. He was demonstrating a loose grip with his own wand, which the first years, Harry included, were imitating at his own behest.

He was again sitting on top of the teacher’s desk at the front of the room, facing the students in a calm and leisurely pose that only gave away a sense of relaxation despite the formality of his robes. The professor was dressed in a three-piece of mainly black, with some greys and whites mixed in between. Only some sparse shades of green mixed amongst the other colours hinted at his being the Slytherin Head of House.

Professor Riddle changed the grip on his wand to one that was clearly quite tight, and Harry swore he could see white on the man’s fingers as he held his wand. “A tight hold, however, has much of the opposite impact. It can take away flexibility and freedom of movement, but allow in turn greater control over movements and prevents any unfortunate accidents from happening.”

James hadn’t arrived to this class early either, and Harry had heard his twin mutter a complaint about the teacher under his breath at Sirius and Peter as he had moved to sit down. Blissfully Riddle seemed to either not have heard it or have willingly ignored it, and Harry couldn’t help but wonder wither James would end up getting into a lot of trouble if he kept being late. The idea worried him. He didn’t want to see his twin get into trouble, particularly for something like that.

“At what point of the wand one comes to hold it has an impact too. If the grip is very high, again, flexibility is heightened. If it is very low, more control over movements,” he was now altering the way he held his wand, though finally settled for showing the strange deceptively loose grip that he seemed to personally prefer.

Harry was distracted, he knew, and had been for the majority of the day. Potions had been somewhat calming, but he couldn’t shake the dream off his head, and it was only made worse every time he looked at Stebbins. He wanted to tell his dorm mate about the dream he had had, to warn him rather than keep it inside, but his brother’s advice rang fresh in his head. Along with the words his parents had told him at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, and which he had overheard years ago.

_“It’ll be public knowledge by the time he gets to Hogwarts.”_

They had sounded so scared at the possibility as well, so terrified at the prospect that something bad would wound up happening to him. That was why they had had him start studying so early on, and why they had given him the warnings they had. They wanted him safe, and Harry knew that. He couldn’t be any more grateful to them for having had him be able to understand his gift this early on, and he wondered what he would have thought of his dreams had none of that happened.

Of course they didn’t want anything to happen to Harry, and for that, silence about his dreams was necessary. No matter what. He trusted his parents knew better, that _Dumbledore_ knew better.

After all, why wouldn’t they? He had just started learning the most basic things about magic, and they had said that he could be made a pawn if he wasn’t careful. If he let himself be led on by people. That he could be made a _pawn_ of someone by virtue of his gift.

“The key in holding one’s wand comes in knowing what sort of style both fits one the best, and benefits one’s intentions the most.” The chalk writing down notes on the blackboard started making a list of different styles, and the benefits of each one. “This can be influenced as well by the spells one finds themselves using the most, as precise work often requires great amounts of control over wand movement.”

More diagrams appeared on the blackboard, and Harry distractedly heard professor Riddle go onto mention how this would be further developed when touching on dueling stances in their second year, or practiced during the dueling club.

“No matter what your spell arsenal, what you know and don’t know, a correct wand grip and stance when dueling both someone or something can mean the difference between victory and defeat, or life and death. Particularly when dealing with certain creatures.”

Harry frowned, looked up at the backboard, and copied down the new diagrams and written information that chalk had continued writing. The diagrams went into further detail than what professor Riddle was explaining aloud, delving deeper into what he probably wanted to teach in order to help them remember and have more information to study from and learn.

In total around nine different wand grips basic classifications had been written, three admittedly representing a part of a deeper analysis of the information given by the professor. There were first the two main broad categories — broad and loose — along with a myriad of things in between, references to stances, and different benefits and disadvantages of each. Harry felt his hand start hurting.

“An incorrect stance will hinder your spell casting and spatial awareness, which will prove deadly no matter what the situation.” A few more notes went up before the enchanted piece of chalk suddenly stopped and lowered itself onto the wooden surface below the blackboard. “The best duelists, often, use and a single or a combination of stances and grips that benefits _them_ and their intentions the most.”

Professor Riddle stood up from where he had been sitting atop of the desk in an informal way. The class would be coming to an end soon, Harry knew. The chalk wrote down the homework to hand in the next class as professor Riddle called attention to it, and Harry noted down the details in order to leave as quickly as possible.

The conversation he had had with his brother was too fresh in his mind, too bright and recent, as was the dream. He couldn’t quite stand to look at Stebbins just yet, and he had just barely managed to awkwardly avoid looking at the other boy throughout the day, ever since waking up. A difficult task, considering he liked being at the very least polite to his dorm mates and he had been obviously avoiding looking directly at him.

Harry gulped, and felt a shiver go down his spine as he remembered the events that he had seen in his dream. He hadn’t dreamt of something like this before, not as direct. What he had seen Abraxas Malfoy reveal to his closest associates and friends in his dream had been completely different. The mention of dragon pox had been just that: a mention, and one that he had been too young to fully comprehend the significance of.

Now, however, it was different. It wasn’t about an illness. It was about an attack. Someone innocent, by his very own admission, would be badly hurt. Someone who was the parent, of one of his dorm mates. How could he stand still whilst the father of Stebbins was deeply wounded or killed?

Harry quickly gazed at James, who was slowly packing up his things. His heart was racing and his mind was too fuzzy to sort out. He needed to talk to his twin, he would know what to tell him or what to do. He would help him. Harry grimaced. This was all too much for him to handle on his own, and the images that he had seen in the dream…

“Harry, are you coming?” he heard someone ask.

Harry turned. Avery, with a certain concerned look about him. The others, Mulciber, Stebbins, and Snape, particularly Snape, were also looking at him with a similar look.

He frowned, had he been that distracted?

“Yes, I,” he stammered, he glanced back at James, who was laughing with Black and Pettigrew about something. The scarred boy, Remus Lupin, at the same time was making his way out of the classroom. “I need to talk to my twin very quickly, i’ll catch up with you guys in no time.”

His four dorm mates seemed to believe him, but they still stared at him oddly before talking again.

“If you’re sure… you know where we’ll be,” Mulciber said. “Don’t take too long or lunch break will be over.”

Stebbins seemed to nod at that, though the look was still there. Were they concerned about him. Snape, in particular, didn’t say anything, and kept looking at Harry even as the other three had turned to leave the classroom.

“I’m okay, I promise,” Harry said, looking back at the slightly greasy-haired boy. 

Snape didn’t seem to believe him. “Are you sure? You seem to have been really distracted ever since this night.”

Harry nodded. “Yes, I just need to clear some things up with James. Nothing too important.”

Snape nodded, “should I wait for you outside of the class then?” The question was earnest, and Harry was surprised by the honesty he found in it. He had never been told anything like that by anyone. Harry suddenly felt incredibly self-conscious, and glanced around himself. James was still talking, and the rest of the class was mostly empty. Only the professor was inside the classroom now, though he seemed to be distracted putting in order some of the materials he had used during the class.

“No, don’t worry. I’ll catch up with you and the other guys at the Great Hall.”

James started to leave the classroom together with his friends, and Harry felt himself panic slightly. If he missed James now he would have to attempt to talk to him at the Great Hall, and he didn’t want to approach the Griffindor table that publicly after the glares he had received from Rosier the last time he had done it. He had seen the way they had looked at him when he had gone to talk to Lily.

Snape, Severus, nodded. “Very well then, if you’re sure. I’ll see you later.”

Harry smiled, muttered some quick thanks, and grabbed his things quickly, and approached his twin’s group as Snape started heading out of the classroom with his things held tightly. Harry didn’t miss how Sirius, seemingly eying the departing Snape, muttered something in James’ ear, making his twin laugh quite strongly. Behind them, at the front of the classroom, Harry felt the eyes of his Head of House focus on them.

Harry swallowed saliva. He needed to get this out of his chest, and he knew he could trust his twin. “James!”

His twin quickly turned to look at him together Black and Pettigrew. Laughter died down.

“Harry,” James beamed, happy to see him “what do you want? We were just going to head to the Great Hall to eat.”

Harry looked at his twin’s friends, and then towards professor Riddle. If he wanted to talk about what he wanted to talk about…

“I need to talk to you, there are some things that are troubling me, and…”

James frowned, “is it urgent? Break might end, and I promised Sirius and Peter to—”

Harry frowned, and felt determination swell up inside him. Another day he might have gone along with what his twin was saying and instead talked to him after dinner, when he would be sure to have full privacy and more time. He had done it a few times until now, but this was different.

“No, I, I— I need to talk to you about you about something important. It’s about, uh, you know what.” 

James’ eyes widened with worry, though Harry didn’t miss the look of confusion in Sirius and Peter’s eyes. Behind him, Riddle kept looking at him, and Harry was sure his Head of House would most likely be worried. Particularly if he had been as distracted as his dorm mates had apparently seen him be. Riddle was no idiot, and if Harry didn’t want his little secret to get out he needed to talk to his twin alone. 

_“It’ll be public knowledge by the time he gets to Hogwarts.”_

“Oh! Well, that’s different then,” James said with a smile, though Harry would see the lines of worry on his twin’s face. He turned to look at Sirius and Pettigrew. “I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

Peter seemed about to complain, though it was Sirius who gave voice to his thoughts.

“But James, you know we were going to start looking into—,” he seemed slightly disappointed.

James smiled apologetically, “I really need to help Harry out with something, but I’ll catch up with you guys in no time, I promise. Just head to the library without me if I don’t make it to the Great Hall in time.”

They nodded, and Sirius smiled gently. “Sure thing, I’ll see you in no time then.”

James nodded, and they turned to exit the classroom. Harry and James followed them, and it was only after Harry was sure that he was alone at the corridor directly outside of the Defence classroom with his twin that he spoke again. 

“Is it a dream?” James suddenly asked. “What did you see? Is it serious?”

Harry glanced around nervously, worry written all over his expression. Should he go somewhere else? What if there was someone around?

His twin must have been thinking the exact same thing, because he immediately saw why Harry must have been worried.

“Of course, this is probably not the place. Where do you want to talk about it? No one seems to be in sight, and—”

Harry smiled, glad for his twin’s concern, but shook his head, “no, this is okay. The corridor is deserted.” He turned to look back at the classroom. “Let’s just walk a bit away from here.”

James nodded, and they started heading down from the tower where the defence class took place in silence. It was a huge structure, though still somewhat small and constraining, and Harry suddenly felt himself wonder if the Gryffindor tower was as big as this tower. Or was it perhaps a bigger space? He knew that the Gryffindor dorm rooms were at _some_ tower thanks to his twin telling him, and he had to admit he was curious about how the common room and dorm rooms of the other houses were like. Were they very different from the Slytherin one?

He’d never know.

Harry only spoke again when they were halfway down from the tower. “I had another dream, one of… you know.”

James’ concern immediately resurfaced again. “Another one? Was it something serious? Don’t you just usually note them down rather than talk about them?”

Harry frowned and shook his head. “This one is different.” He had never seen anyone in that much pain, or a scene like that. The political situation was, at least from what he had heard Avery say, quite delicate, and Dumbledore’s name had been mentioned, and…

“What was it? Did you see someone you know, from the school?”

Harry shook his head again, and hummed. “Sort of. I saw the father of one of my dorm mates, Stebbins. He was attacked, and I think…” Harry gulped. “I think he was tortured with some sort of spell. James, I had never seen anyone suffer that much, or be in so much pain. By the end of the dream he seemed to be dead.”

James stopped walking, and stared at him with shock.

“What happened? Where did it take place?”

“Somewhere close to Diagon Alley, I think. There was a store, and he was carrying something that a few men wanted. One of them, Bones, I think, told him to stop and offered him the protection of Albus Dumbledore, but Stebbins refused, said that he would suffer if he betrayed someone, and—”

“And?” James’ eyes were wide. His twin looked slightly scared. “You’ve never told me of dreaming anything like this before, Harry!”

“I never have!” Harry could feel his heart pounding. “I think he was killed in the end. He’s the father of one of one of my dorm mates, James, I don’t know what to do. I haven’t been able to look straight at Stebbins since this night.” 

James’ expression softened, and he put both of his hands on Harry’s shoulders. “It’ll be alright, Harry, you know that sometimes your dreams don’t show the near future.”

Harry just felt more worried at that. What if it did? What if Stebbins was to lose his father very soon?

“What if it does though? I know what father and mother told me, that’s why I wanted to ask you. I know I shouldn’t tell anyone about it, but—” 

“No! You know what mum and dad said, it’s important to not say anything, or you’ll be in trouble. You know how it is, Harry.”

Harry frowned. “You think I shouldn’t do anything?” This seemed to cause James to flinch slightly at his words and look unsure.

“That’s not what I mean,” he stammered out with a half-stutter. He looked around slightly uncomfortably, and the grip of his hands on Harry’s shoulders seemed to get tighter.

“I’m just not sure if you can do anything, Harry. Not without endangering yourself, and that should come first, right?”

Harry’s eyes softened at that. James’ concern was there again, obvious and plane to see. How could Harry criticism his twin for that?

“I just,” Harry muttered, looking around. “I never thought anything of my dream about Abraxas Malfoy, James. I couldn’t have done anything about it, it being dragon pox, but this…” Harry paused for a few seconds, searching for the correct words. “This still hasn’t happened, and well—”

James’ eyes widened. “You want to prevent it, don’t you?”

“Shouldn’t I?” Harry could tell his heart was racing, but felt it drop when he saw James look at him with pity.

“What could you possibly do, Harry? We’re just first year students at Hogwarts, dad and mum know far more than us, and…”

“And?” Harry asked.

Silence followed for a few overly long seconds, and by the time he continued his tone was slightly harsher, but still had that same worry in it. “What could you possibly do without endangering yourself, Harry?”

Harry’s eyes widened, he wasn’t following James and could feel slight annoyance building up. “What if not saying anything makes Stebbins’ father die, James?”

“How could it, Harry? You just _dream_ of it, right?” James frowned. 

Harry shook his head, “I know, but… I…” He paused and looked around. He could still almost make out the entrance to the defence classroom. “I had never seen anyone suffer like that, James, you don’t know what I saw. He was screaming and in so much pain, he—”

James’ eyes softened as his expression relaxed, and Harry felt his eyes become teary for the first time in the day. It was all too much, it had all been too much. He didn’t know what to think or do about it, or how to interpret the dream and the events he had seen. He had never seen anyone in so much pain and they had mentioned betrayal and other things and—

“What can I do, James?”

“Oh, Harry.” The tone of his twin was filled with pity.

 Harry readied a reply that died down as he felt James envelop him in a hug. “We can’t do anything with how things are, not right now. Maybe tell mum and dad, or Dumbledore? Someone trustworthy.”

“Someone trustworthy?” Harry muttered. He felt his mind go clearer at the contact with his twin. It was slightly less fuzzy, but his heart was beating as fast as before, and there was still a lump in his throat. “Dumbledore? Do you think he would be able to do something about it?”

James beamed. “Of course! He’s the most powerful wizard in the century, isn’t he?”

Harry’s mind immediately went to Avery’s words during the opening ceremony, and he couldn’t stop the next words that came out of his mouth. “Professor Riddle also is one of them, isn’t he? Perhaps he would also be able to do something if he and Dumbledore worked together, and—”

James broke away from the hug. “Of course not! He’s not trustworthy, who knows what he’d do!” The way James’ tone of voice immediately rose revealed more about his opinion than what the frown that immediately set itself back on his face showed. “Mum and dad warned you about him, you know that, Harry.”

“He’s my Head of House, shouldn’t I go to him, you know, just in case?” the man was, after all, supposed to help Harry, and didn’t this technically involve something the man would find interesting? What if talking to professor Riddle helped save Stebbins’ father?

“We don’t know where his loyalties lie, Harry, what if he’s a bad person? You know what Ollivander said about him, and then there’s the warning you were given about him…” James rambled. Harry hadn’t seen his twin that worried in quite some time. “Your power… you need to protect yourself, Harry. Besides, you don’t know when it’ll happen, right?”

Harry’s expression fell. He knew, of course he knew! He always knew. He was always told about it, always _reminded_ of it. But he had had a dream that he knew would _eventually_ come to happen, no matter what.

Shouldn’t he at least attempt to warn someone about it?

“Shouldn’t I…” Harry was stuttering now, feeling somewhat uncertain and broken. “He was suffering so much, James, I can’t just… I can’t…” his eyes became blurrier. “He’s my dorm mate, James!” 

James sighed. “I know, Harry. Just, you know, tell Dumbledore about it? I’m sure he’ll take care of everything, if not mum and dad. We can’t do anything more than that without, you know…” He paused, looked up at the distant defence class, and then frowned. “Besides, what if he’s, you know, a dark wizard? Have you thought about that?” 

Harry was taken aback by the sudden change in topic. A dark wizard? What was that? “A dark wizard? What do you mean, James?”

“Sirius was telling me all about it before. Harry, you know, certain types of magic apparently… It’s not the sort of thing our family engages in, but Sirius’ family, the Blacks… Well, they’ve forced him to learn all types of nasty stuff, and well, what if Riddle practices that sort of magic too?” 

He seemed honestly worried, though Harry couldn’t really understand why. Didn’t all types of magic serve some sort of function? He knew that there were types of magic that could deeply hurt others, but so could everything, right? He himself had dreams that foretold him the deaths and events that were to happen, and couldn’t that be used for bad things, like his parents had once told him?

“What if he practices… what could he do, James? Isn’t he a teacher?”

“You should know about it already, Harry! It’s why our family isn’t close to other pureblood families like the Malfoy’s, “the Black’s or the Lestrange’s,” James said, rushing through his words. He was confident. “It was what Sirius was telling me about! They practice dark magic, do all sorts of rituals that bring nothing but harm, and… How could someone like that be a good person? Someone that you can trust?”

“My dorm mates have been kind to me though. Lucius Malfoy really helped me find my classes and get used to my house during the first week and only Rosier has been really glaring at me.” Harry started saying. What did anything else matter? They had been good to him, hadn’t they?

James shook his head. “You’re too naive, Harry. Dark magic is what mum and dad really wanted to warn us against, how come you haven’t heard about it? Just like how Sirius’ parents are. They— Some of the things they believe and _think_ about muggleborns are horrible.”

James sighed loudly, retreated back a few steps, and observed Harry with a strange look on his face. “Look, Harry. Just tell Dumbledore, okay? I’ll tell mum and dad.”

Harry remained still, completely silent, as his twin left down the remaining stairs and out of the defence tower. He was still in the exact same position when he heard the distinctive steps of someone starting to head down the steps of the defence tower.

Harry’s eyes widened, and he shook his head. Too many thoughts were rushing through his head, and he couldn’t make sense of them all. He clutched the straps of his bag, and ran down the remaining flight of stairs, nearly falling down them when he decided to look up and caught a glimpse of his defence professor.

He was reading a book.

Harry gulped, shook his head, and ran out of the tower and towards the Great Hall as he clenched the straps of his bag tighter than before.

He felt lonely.

 

* * *

 

When he got to the Great Hall, it was still somewhat filled with people, though the house tables were starting to empty down. People were talking animatedly all around as Harry found himself absentmindedly heading towards the area where he and the other first year Slytherins had gotten used to sitting down, at one of the far ends of the long table. The Gryffindor table was devoid of first years, or at least of those Harry knew. Remus Lupin was probably long since gone, and even his twin and his friends weren’t around. 

Harry sighed. He wasn’t feeling hungry at all. He was too tired, too deep in thought to be able to truly pay attention to what was going on around himself. By the time Harry noticed people greeting him half-way through placing a few pieces of food on his plate he almost jumped in shock.

“That took a while, didn’t it?” It was Mulciber, in the half-joking and half-serious tone of voice that he usually used to start an easy or superficial conversation. “You’re lucky you’re in time to have lunch before the next classes start.”

It wasn’t just Mulciber around him though. There was Avery and Severus as well, all sitting on their usual spots. Only Stebbins was missing, and Harry couldn’t help but feel a pang of relief at the absence of the other boy. He was nice and polite, he never did anything noticeable, but he wouldn’t have been to stand his presence at the moment. Not comfortably.

Harry forced himself to smile, he still had a lump in his throat. “Did you all wait for me to come here?”

He had to admit he was surprised. He had expected to find himself all alone, or at least to find his dorm mates all long gone. He had been talking to James for quite a while, and between that and the time he had then spent on his own after that… Wouldn’t the next classes be starting soon? 

“You know what the orders of the prefects were. We’ve got to get early to class and make a good impression on teachers as Slytherins, not like Gryffindors.”

Avery. Harry could tell that the other boy was actually joking, even if somewhat seriously. They had actually waited for him.

Harry didn’t know what to say, but he felt himself strangely grateful as he noticed the way they were looking at him. They had seemed somewhat worried in the class, when he was that distracted, particularly Severus, and here they were now. Even though he had just been cordial to them over ever since classes had started.

The atmosphere shifted as Avery and Mulciber started talking to each other, and Harry found himself eating in silence as he mindlessly followed the quidditch-centered conversation of the other two. Snape remained mostly silent, seemingly more interested in reading their first year book on potions, but still commented on a few things once or twice.

By the time their next class — charms — was bound to start, he was following the three to the classroom with much of the same demeanour. He felt relaxed, even amidst the loneliness that had set in after talking to James, though he didn’t quite know why.

Why had they waited for him, when neither him nor them had really made any overly friendly gestures to them?

He didn’t quite dare to ask, even as they headed into the class and sat down on the same places they had the first week. Stebbins headed into the room, looking panicked and carrying parchment, and Avery and Mulciber ignored the other three of them as they kept on talking. Besides Harry, Severus kept on reading their potions textbook in total silence.

Harry opened his charms textbook and took out of his bag the parchment rolls with the work they had been set for this week. He had finished them very soon after they had been set, and he felt somewhat proud at the accomplishment. They were still likely going to focus on the theory behind charms for quite a while yet, but he knew the class would be interesting once they finally got onto more practical things. He had read ahead the charms textbook just for that, and some of the things he had seen had seemed quite interesting.

Harry glanced at Stebbins.

Professor Flitwick entered the classroom with a strange sort of grace and a merry tone of voice, and students finally quieted down. He soon started talking about what they would be doing throughout that class, and Harry quickly found himself noting down every word that the professor said. Fuzz son grew in his mind again, however, and his mind went back to James and his parents.

Stebbins was noting down calmly everything that professor Flitwick was saying, though it was obvious that he wasn’t putting too much detail into his notes. He was nervous, probably about something to do with the essays that they had been set for that week. 

_“It’ll be public knowledge by the time he gets to Hogwarts.”_

Harry sighed, and gripped his quill. The words of his parents from all those years ago… He swallowed saliva, and felt determination bubbling up within him. He couldn’t just sit still and allow something horrible to happen to Stebbins’ father, it wouldn’t be right. Not when all the information he had could serve for something. 

He’d tell Dumbledore about his dream the next day. Via letter if necessary.

By the end of the day he had written and sent a letter to the headmaster he had known since years before with Hedwig.

He couldn’t quite manage to get rid of the nervousness that set in immediately afterwards, though. This would be more than enough to do something about it, wouldn’t it?

Harry shook his head. The wind was blowing strong at the owlry, and night time was just starting to set. The books in his back felt ever so heavy.

 _’No,’_ he thought to himself.

James had been right. If he wanted to follow what his parents had told him he needed to remain silent. He couldn’t do more, and that meant that telling even just Stebbins about it would be wrong. Dumbledore would take care of it.

Harry grimaced and turned around, intending to leave the owlry.

He would… right? No one deserved to suffer, not like that. No matter what. Even if they used dark magic, like James had said some people and families did. 

It was only by the time he had almost returned to his dorm room that Harry realized that he hadn’t even attempted to see anything more related to the scene he had been shown in dreams with any other type of divination. He hadn’t once read Stebbins’ palms, looked at fire omens, or done… anything, really.

Perhaps he should study a bit harder divination, like his parents had wanted him to. Start following the books he had bought at Flourish and Blotts rather than purely focus on the ancient runes textbook professor Riddle had given him. Perhaps, if he did, he would manage to understand these things completely, and fully be able to use a scrying mirror. See fire-omens clearer. Learn how to use and see with chinese fortune sticks and tarot cards. Learn more about the _history_ of divination and the methods used by the Oracle of Delphi and other famous seers.

He had to, right? After all, what if it could make a difference?

Harry felt a strange sort of excitement bubble up inside him. Maybe, just maybe, he would be able to see more clearly if he learnt more, gather more facts about his dream to be able to pass on or justify. _Do_ something about it covertly.

Harry smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the prolonged wait for this chapter. I had it almost finished two days after posting chapter four, but a few things came up this last week that got in the way of me writing for a few days. 
> 
> The next chapter should, like the previous ones, however, be up in three days. 
> 
> Thank you all for all of the support and encouragement so far! I'm really glad to see that people seem to have liked the story so far, and really want to see more.


	6. Chapter 6

Light shone into the top of the tower brightly, setting alight the stone floors of the owlery. Shadows danced in the corners most away from the late-midday sun, dancing alongside the light revealing the mess of straw and owl droppings atop the stone floors of the west tower. The smell of straw and seed and owls was thick in the air, surprisingly strong despite the fresh late-summer air streaming in from the set of huge open windows. Owls were nestled atop the perches carved into the walls of the circular room, rising right up to the top of the tower, and a number of them were crowding around a large water recipient whilst a few others perched themselves on the openings of the windows, ready to fly off to hunt.

A comfortable temperature reigned within the room. Only the sound of the wind and distant rustling leaves could be heard, and only that of the wings of the owls as they their wings broke the monotony of the room. It was peaceful, absolutely so, and despite how tiring the walk up to the west tower had been, Harry immediately felt himself relax. There weren’t any other students inside the owlery besides him, and not a single word would be heard. 

It was peaceful, undoubtedly so, and Harry couldn’t help but to enjoy the calmness that reigned all around inside the room. The sunlight that flowed in warmed up the entire room, and made sitting down on the cold and hard stone surprisingly pleasant. Harry could feel his dark hair warm against his skin, almost as hot as his silver-and-green Slytherin jumper. It was slightly wrinkled, with one or two pronounced cresses in its back. A fact which his mother — along with most other Slytherins — would have no doubt noticed. 

He would have avoided wearing it too, if it had been his Slytherin robes and it had been a weekday. The level of comfort Harry usually enjoyed in his clothing wasn’t compatible with the house rules, judging by the way Slytherin prefects like Malfoy looked at younger house members, and he had quickly started avoiding wearing the more casual clothing he had brought with him from home. 

It wasn’t that it just didn’t fit — a lot of his wardrobe were things closer to muggle-styles that the older Slytherins would have no doubt noticed. Something that Harry had quickly learnt to avoid after only a few days of seeing how his housemates would talk about the muggle-like clothing that Gryffindors wore. It had ended up after the first few weeks of term with his outright avoiding it after the looks he had received after he had ventured into the common room to study in his free time with the type of clothing he had seen his brother wear around the school over weekends. 

The lesson now was clear, but even then, a few creases didn’t bother him. Not when his intention for the rest of the day was to spend it together with Hedwig whilst reading. What would it then matter, if there were no classes set, and most Slytherins would be out in the grounds or inside their common room?

Harry closed his eyes and breathed in, and extended his arm in a practiced fashion as he heard the distinctive set of flaps that accompanied an owls’ flight into the owlery. 

Hedwig. 

He found himself missing her so dearly at times, particularly when he found himself feeling particularly lonely. If contact with James over the first week had been sparse, ever since he had told him of his dream… well… 

Perhaps it was the fact that his twin was in Gryffindor and he was in Slytherin, but it seemed that things had seemed to start changing slightly, and though he managed to spend time with his twin over weekends he could tell that the other was more comfortable amongst his new group of friends. He didn’t like them enough to spend time alongside with them, and though he knew James didn’t mind him hanging around, his friends seemed like a different matter. It wasn’t that he disliked Sirius Black or Peter Pettigrew, at least not completely, even if he thought that they were wrong about his dorm mates. The two boys seemed too different, too interested in other things, and just like that time at the Hogwarts Express, Harry hadn’t had anything to talk about when around them. 

The feeling was apparently was mutual, considering the lack of contact that he received from the other two boys. It wound up being uncomfortable, and Harry didn’t like it. He’d rather just avoid the situation entirely, proceed with politeness, and talk to his twin elsewhere. Perhaps that was why he had found himself reading at the common room with Severus more often these days. 

However, ever since _that_ Defence class, he had barely had the chance to really spend time with his twin, and that the other didn’t notice was maddening to Harry. 

He hadn’t once heard talk about his dream or about anything else — Stebbins hadn’t said _anything_ , and he had, at most, received a smile from Dumbledore when the headmaster had been sitting at the teacher’s table the day after he had written the letter. The man knew every detail Harry had managed to write down about what he had seen in dreams, 

Harrys smiled as Hedwig perched herself on his outstretched arm, and he quickly petted her. Hedwig _hooted_ , and Harry reached for one of the two books he had left on the floor. He had spent enough time reading together with Hedwig out at the gardens of the Potter manor over summer to be able to do it comfortably without disturbing the owl, something he was starting to be grateful for. 

Her presence was comforting, giving a sense of company, real company, that made studying all the better. It made him remember that he wasn’t alone, not really. Even if the room he was in had no other people inside. 

Harry closed his eyes, and felt a weight in his stomach lift slightly. His mind went back to the morning of the day after he had sent the letter to the headmaster.

The way Dumbledore looked at him from the other side of the Great Hall right before smiling at him that morning had made him realise instantly that the headmaster would do something about the dream. That it would all be fine in the end, as would have likely set things in motion to prevent it fromm happening. He had seen that look, he had seen it on his face when he had calmed his parents all those years ago, and on the few occasions he had visited afterwards. The genial smile had been clear in its meaning: _‘I know’, ‘i’ll do something about it’_. 

Harry hadn’t been able to help feeling slightly elated and calm that morning, even amongst the crowd of students gathered then at the Great Hall for breakfast. 

If Dumbledore knew, if he understood the contents of his letter, it would no doubt be alright. He had been explicit about the details he had seen in the dream, about the names he had heard and the location near Borgin and Burkes. Said all of the words he had heard them relay. It would all be alright. He had relayed all of the information he had seen, after all. 

Harry let out a sigh of relief. He felt that the details of the dream, the significance of it, was beyond his grasp. That because of not being familiar with the details, he wasn’t able to really interpret the full meaning the events he had seen. 

He knew how Stebbins’ father had been going to a store somewhere close to Diagon Alley — Borgin and Burkes. There, some people had stopped him and done _something_ to him with a red-colored curse whilst dueling. His dormmate’s father had ended up being killed. Murdered, for carrying something and not handing it over. Harry knew that much, however…

Harry groaned and petted Hedwig, her soft white feathers somewhat calming him. It had taken him some time to realise that he didn’t know and hadn’t thought about what he could have possibly been carrying. About what could have been so valuable to merit being approached by the three men, or about who it was that it belonged to that it merited that level of fear in protecting it. 

The man had been terrified before defending himself, but why?

When he had seen Abraxas Malfoy confessing his illness in his dream it had been different. The man had been calm, as if having accepted it already. He had been surrounded by people who were close to him, people who he had known. 

This had been completely different.

The way they had all talked about each other spoke of nothing but tension and distrusts and the screams… Merlin, the screams. He had never seen anyone in so much pain, never seen anyone suffer like that, and—

Harry shook his head, forced himself to focus on the book in front of him, and crossed his arms whilst grabbing at one of his own elbows. Hedwig hooted in complaint, and perched herself right on the floor besides him. 

It was midday. Sunday. He was at the owlery.

He had plans to stay at the owlery with Hedwig. Start reading two book she had managed to find at the library to start studying different methods of scrying, switch to runes, go have dinner, and then start working on a potions paper with Severus at the library. Talk to Lily if she was there.

Sunday. 

Midday.

Harry breathed out. His heart was racing and his thoughts were clouded. 

He hadn’t been able to sleep too comfortably ever since the dream. He hadn’t had any other dreams, not like that one. He had dreamt of things he didn’t comprehend, of people too different doing things he couldn’t comprehend around muggle technology he didn’t recognise. He had had dreams of things like that or of nothing, and he was grateful for it. For being able to stay away from the strange white train station he had now seen twice, and from any further glimpses into Stebbins’ father. 

Dumbledore knew, and Dumbledore had just smiled at him. He knew he had. 

It would all be alright. Things would go back to normal, and he wouldn’t see that scene again. 

Even better — it wouldn’t come to pass. 

Everything, aside from that, had been normal. Completely normal. He hadn’t so much as dreamt a single thing inside the strange train station, and though he had certainly _dreamt_ of other things, they had been strangely distant and close to muggle affairs. 

He still couldn’t believe his luck at having managed to find two books specifically on Scrying as a Divination technique this quickly. Almost like a miracle.

He had never really seen anything so specific in the library at the Potter manor, and the fact that there was material so specific at Hogwarts available for study amazed him. Plus, if there had been things this specific, how many more could there be? 

He had been able to learn and discover the divination technique through mentions in some of the other more general books his mother had had him study years ago, but hadn’t been able to find something on specific types and techniques. 

Despite his surprise, however, there they were. Two tomes that could help him in the long run to see an untold number of things, help him _survive_ if it came to it. One of the two books seemed a bit too old, and could probably benefit from being restored, whilst the other one looked slightly newer: _‘Scrying and Divination: Separating Myth from Reality’_ , and _‘Methods and Symbols in Scrying: A Complete Guide’_.

The level of detail in the second one had been amazing, and clearly beyond his level. He couldn’t wait to be able to test it out, even if purely because of curiosity.

He had been passively studying divination over the last years, but this was… well, it was different. He had a _purpose_ for this, something he _wanted_ to do. His Defence professor was a mystery, and perhaps, through this, he’d be able to clarify the contradicting comments he had heard.

Avery had seemed to admire him so much, and his parents… James had repeated to him what they had said, of course, that he wasn’t trust worthy, but he couldn’t get rid of his curiosity. After all, there had to be a reason why he ought to be untrustworthy, right? 

He had seen the indications of the man’s personality, his real personality. A visionary, intelligent, confident beyond any reasonable degree… it was all there in his facial features. Face reading was useful for some of the things that also made palm reading useful, and though Harry was no expert, he knew enough to see and identify basic things. 

A nearby owl hooted. As the somewhat lonely ‘Hoo’ sound repeated several times before another joined in, Harry petted Hedwig again and opened the copy of _‘Scrying and Divination: Separating Myth from Reality’_.

It had roots in history as far as anyone could look back, along with strong ties to crystal-gazing in Divination and, apparently, old ceremonial magic. Originating far back in ancient Persia, but being also found in a surprisingly large variety of different cultures. Cassandra Trelawney had famously stated that mirrors reflected the one’s own soul, as well last hat of others, and this was, apparently, what made Scrying particularly powerful and useful. Uses could range from focusing attention and removing unwanted thoughts, to seeing both the future and past. 

_“Though in modern times scrying has become particularly related to the use of scrying mirrors, one finds historically that scrying via glass or water was commonplace. So much so, that some muggles in history came to attempt to copy and practice the techniques._

_The use of modern scrying mirrors, commonplace since the 17_ _ th _ _Century, is most often associated with limited personal future-gazing. This limit is most often due to the artificial medium being used as the material for scrying, though some scrying mirrors of particularly high quality may not find themselves limited to this. Natural mediums and materials, such as water of many types, will not be affected by this, and though more limited, will lead the more ambitious users to use the more ancient techniques associated with these. It should be noted, however, that the use of these is of particular difficulty, even if more rewarding. Water scrying in particular, it should be noted, served as the historical origin and inspiration for pensives, as the visual similarities might suggest despite the differences in use._

_It is these ancient and more difficult techniques associated, most notably associated with water in mythology, that can aid one in seeing events in the more distant past and future. As well as in aiding one in seeing the future and past of a person not related to themselves. It was for such things, for example, that the object behind the ‘Well of Urd’ in Norse mythology came to be used. The fact that this mythical object was associated to the figure of the norns, who most likely ought to have been incredibly powerful seers, should tell the reader and student of divination the feats of which such methods are capable._

_Though the use of water scrying does not guarantee for all of its visions to come to pass, hydromancy, that is, gazing into a shallow pool or bowl for the purposes of seeing, will allow the user a deeper and higher access to unknown events. Making it an attractive method to use for those capable of accessing it, despite the lack of certainty that it sometimes offers, in contrast to other divination techniques. Particularly, due to the ability see visions of the past, present, and future.”_

The sun had visually started to set by the time Harry looked up from the library book. It would likely still be one or two hours until dinner. 

A gentle as a gentle breeze flowed into the owlery, ruffling Hedwig’s feathers along its path, and Harry couldn’t help but closing his eyes. He could smell the fresh grass, the dampness of the nearby lake, and the smell of the wood in the forbidden forest, even amongst that of the straw that covered the stone floor of the room. 

The gentle breeze and the smells of the fields that surrounded Hogwarts were oddly relaxing, as was the smell of the straw that covered the floor. Hedwig was perched besides him, her feathers brushing gently against his skin. The sun was no longer falling on him directly and had instead shifted to the other side of the window. He could feel himself distracted. His mind was fuzzy, and he knew he couldn’t quite focus on the words on the page as well as he had when he had first opened it. 

It was comfortable, too comfortable, perhaps. He was tired. He hadn’t been sleeping as well lately because of the vision-dream, and…

The increasingly gentle warmth of the sun was comforting, even with the heat that his jumper had absorbed. The room was an almost-quiet sort of peaceful, with only the sound of owls being heard. Leaves rustled from down below. 

Would his dorm mates be at the Great Hall by the time dinner would be served, or later? Would James?

He could imagine that perhaps they would, or at least some of them. What would they be doing? His twin definitely wouldn’t until later that was for sure. Harry yawned, shook his head, and closed the book he had been reading all this time, placing it atop the other one besides him. He didn’t notice himself falling asleep. 

It was dark by the time Harry awoke.

The books he had brought with him to the owlery were at the same place he had left them, and Hedwig seemed to have nestled herself atop one of his legs. His eyes widened as he saw how high the moon was hanging up the night sky. 

Harry paled slightly when he realized he had agreed with Snape to work on a potions paper that Slughorn had set them. Would he still be there? It couldn’t possibly be late enough for curfew to have started.

Harry shifted Hedwig to one of his arms and practically jumped onto his feet. Just how late was it?

He was running down from the owlery and the west tower before he knew it, books clutched beneath his arms and having made sure Hedwig had nestled atop one of the perches carved into the walls. 

The west tower was completely deserted, as were all of the maze-like corridors that surrounded it. The moon seemed to be high up enough in the night sky for it to be close to  the time curfew started. It was hanging a bit too high for it to be dinner time, and too many stars could be seen for it to be early into the night. 

There wasn’t a single student at the hallways and corridors, and though the area around the owlery usually seemed to be mostly deserted during certain times of the day, that alone didn’t explain the total absence of students. There wasn’t anyone walking through any hallway, and not a single sound could be heard. 

Harry ran, pale moonlight shining into the hallways through open windows as he went by. Even amidst the worry about the time and whether curfew had started he could feel a a certain excitement amidst the anxiety bubbling up inside of him. 

The two books he had gotten out of the library seemed to be detailed enough for him to genuinely be able to learn about scrying as a divination technique. What would he be able to see in the mirror’s or water’s surface, once he leant the correct way of seeing with that type of divination? 

Though these things could take time to completely master — it had taken Harry after all a few years to get the hang on reading fire-omens — it was always possible to do so. Divination was different, as was the sight. Though there were those who were apparently more or less gifted for future-seeing, specific techniques such as these often just required practice and a knowledge of what one was doing. Rarely were there any real dangers involved, unlike those that runes potentially could involve when written incorrectly. Plus, if helped him to learn something more about professor Riddle and how he was. Helped him understand more about the sparse yet seemingly conflicting things he had heard…

The man was a total mystery, at least that’s what it seemed like. He had barely hear anything from Avery, but what he had had seemed to contradict what he had heard from his parents, even if slightly. 

Perhaps, just perhaps, water-gazing could genuinely eventually become useful. It was only a matter of learning and practicing, after all. It always was. 

Harry rushed down the flight of stairs that he knew would take him to the dungeons, where the Slytherin common room was located. He was tempted to head to the Great Hall in case dinner was still being served. Judging by the position of the moon and the darkness of the night outside, however, he didn’t want to risk being caught wandering around the hallways by prefects outside a permissible time and having points taken off Slytherin. The way Rosier had been looking at him from the distance had been bad enough lately, and he doubted that the other boy or any other older student would take kindly to Harry causing Slytherin to lose points. 

He didn’t like the way they had kept looking at him, or the way some of the others seemed to ignore Harry when he was around. His dorm mates were polite and kind, and Severus had proved to be a good person to be around. Someone similar to him mentally, even if just apparently. However, the rest…

Harry started almost-running through the hallways, only vaguely aware of the way the figures in the paintings looked at him as he rushed on. He swore that one or two directed some words at him, but he didn’t quite manage to catch what they were. The corridors were still empty, wi not even a single individual student in sight.

He turned right and headed into the hallway that he knew would lead him almost directly to the Slytherin common room. It wouldn’t take him long to get to its entrance, and once he was inside he could return to his original plan of studying runes, or starting work on the potions paper he had, in the end, not been able to work on. 

Would Snape be angry at him for not having been at the library? 

Harry grimaced at the thought, and quickly resolved to apologize to the black haired boy as soon as he found him in their dorm room. It was a few seconds until he managed to reach a barren-looking expanse of stone wall that he had quickly come to know very intimately. Harry sighed with relief at not having run into a single prefect or teacher on his way to the Slytherin common room, and unconsciously straightened his back as he stared at the stone wall. 

“ _Amor fati,_ ” he said softly.

The walls parted, and allowed the green-toned baroque room to come into view. Silver, black, and green decoration greeted Harry as he entered into the wide room. Despite the surprising brightness with which the low-hanging greenish lamps lit the room, it was the fire lit within the four fireplaces at the centre that seemed to be lighting most of the common room. 

The fire was burning slightly strangely, and Harry was immediately sure that he could just barely make out a few shapes and forms within the flames even in the distance. Each was shifting and changing into different shapes and objects, sometimes into more humanoid-looking shapes, but nothing which seemed to be of a concrete nature. Though he could distinctively see a snake, the humanoid-looking shapes were too vague from the entrance of the common room to distinguish completely, and the objects and symbols meanwhile too fuzzy and unrecognizable for Harry to be able to read. 

Harry frowned. He’d have to get closer to the fire if he wanted to see into it and _read_ , but there were too many people inside the common room to even attempt without having it seem odd. After all, how many times did a student enter the common room, only to sit by himself and stare into a fireplace? 

The snake, however…

Harry heard laughter ringing loudly in the room, and he quickly turned to observe the people in the room. There were some sparse groups of Slytherins sitting on the carved chairs and couches that were spread throughout the room. Harry couldn’t quite make out or distinguish who most of them there, and could only recognize a few. 

There was Narcissa Black together with Lucius Malfoy at one of the sides of the room, seeming to have been talking to each other for quite some time. Lucius had a completely neutral expression on him, but the lines in his eyes told of a different story. Right besides him was Narcissa, wearing a sweet sort of smile. 

At a corner of the common room was Steve Laughalots, the seventh-year captain of the Slytherin quidditch team, surrounded by a group of other students in their last year. Andromeda Black, the seventh-year sister of Narcissa Black, seemed to be sitting by herself relatively close to their group. She was sitting down elegantly, reading from what seemed to be one of her textbooks in a relaxed manner. He hadn’t had any contact with the older year students, none beyond that which he and the other first years had had over the first week, but she had been one of the older students that had seemed to treat Harry with a kind sort of politeness. 

Close to the entrance, to its left side, was a large group of third year students, amongst which Harry immediately recognized Evan Rosier alongside the two other boys that he seemed to always be around. He didn’t seem to have noticed him, and Harry took the chance to start making his way to his dorm room. He couldn’t see any of his dorm mates in the common room, though he knew that Mulciber and Avery had a habit of playing wizarding chess there every now and again. 

He noticed Lucius Malfoy giving him a quick glance as he started making his way down the stairs that led to the dorm rooms for the boys of each year, being greeted by his dorm mates once he entered with something between curiosity and suspicion, though probably because of the lateness of his arrival.

There was a comfortable sort of atmosphere in the room. Avery was talking to Stebbins’, who seemed to be quite animated. Severus and Mulciber were reading on their respective beds, the former whilst quickly jotting down notes on a piece of parchment. 

Harry smiled, and walked towards his bed. 

 

* _* *_

 

_By the time Harry realized he was dreaming, he found himself in a damaged and dreary-looking building. It had an air of grey dampness about it, with dull or cracked paint covering the walls. A number of children from a wide variety of ages seemed to be lingering or moving around the halls, each wearing worn and outdated clothing. A stern-looking woman towered at a side of the hallway, scolding a young boy with a guilty expression and teary blue eyes. A group of girls to the boy’s side kept looking at him pointedly, giggling every few seconds._

_He was dreaming of the past. He could tell, and the outdated clothing did nothing but confirm what the dull grey that permeated the scene hinted at._

_Harry had had dreams such as this before, though only rarely, and he never could quite tell what they meant. They seemed stranger than the vision-dreams that he saw during nights more often. They were duller in a manner of ways, with nothing all that bright or extraordinary about them, and often showed daily scenes that Harry couldn’t really make sense of. He had dreamt of things, sometimes, closer or more obviously distant to his own time; with one particular dream of a medieval wizard standing out._

_Harry had never had been able to confirm whether what he saw was really the past or not, however, and had quickly ended up concluding or deciding that what he saw was more representative than direct. Something with some sort of meaning left up to him to interpret rather than a set of events. A normal dream._

_The guilty-looking boy broke down crying, and Harry heard him mutter something about a rabbit before the stern-looking woman shook her head in a sharp and quick way. The blue-eyed boy shook his head and pointed at nearby room. The stern-looking woman looked scared for a second, and the nearby girls immediately stopped giggling._

_Harry turned, and looked at the room to which the boy had pointed._

_It looked just as dreary as the rest of the hallway, as well as damp and cramped. Its walls looked barren, probably as barren as those of the rest of the rooms, and it was only then that he realized that he probably was at an orphanage. Some sort of poor one from at least twenty years back._

_Inside, at the far back of the room, he could just barely see a small and dark-haired boy sitting on a thin-looking bed with his back turned almost completely away from the door. He seemed to be talking, though Harry couldn’t make out or hope to hear the words._

_He felt the dream changing, grey changing to something brighter, and Harry just barely managed to see the outline of a snake curled around the dark-haired boy’s arm before it changed completely, and the orphanage disappeared. Giving way yet another jungle, with more muggle soldiers wearing green and holding some sort of weapon inside it, amongst the greenery._

_The colors in the area were bright and shining, coated with some sort of heavy humidity that made it impossible to even breathe. The soldiers marched in in a group, however, looking around themselves in fear. They are walking in total silence, with one of them giving orders to the others._

Harry awoke with a scream as he saw one of the muggle soldiers fall into a hidden pit and into a set sharpened stakes. They seemed to be smeared with something, and Harry just managed to heard the shouts of the leader of the group before he fully awoke.

_“Punji stakes! Quick, quick!”_

He didn’t go back to sleep. 

 

* * *

 

Harry reached for his fork and pierced a piece of bacon, stifling a yawn before taking a bite out of it. He felt tired, the somewhat sleepless night from before weighing heavily on him. 

It had gotten a bit colder, he could tell. Around him, the Great Hall was surprisingly crowded despite the early hour. He was used to being there early together with his dorm mates, but the higher presence of students from other houses at this time came off as strange. Even James had turned out to be awake early. 

His dorm mates had been mostly silent since waking up, with only Mulciber and Stebbins in constant conversation. Avery seemed to have just started really waking up, however, and had joined the conversation with a sort of active enthusiasm. 

“Herbology will be the death of me, I swear.” Mulciber. The dark haired boy had an outright miserable look on his face and eyes. “I forgot that we had to hand in a paper — it’ll be a miracle if I manage to hand it in today.” 

The mere words made Mulciber look exhausted, and Harry didn’t miss the similar expression that quickly crossed Stebbins’ face. Mulciber had been intermittently opening the textbook and underlying certain passages throughout breakfast before quickly returning to writing on a piece of parchment.

Still, that herbology paper…

Harry smiled before he could really help himself, feeling bad for the other two. “Are you talking about the paper professor Sprout set last week?”

The eyes of his four dorm mates locked onto him, and Mulciber nodded slowly. 

“It isn’t due in today, professor Sprout asked for it to be handed in next Monday,” Harry said. 

Mulciber looked from Harry down at the table, to his herbology book, only to finally settle on his dawn-pale bacon and eggs. A few seconds went by before he looked at Harry again.

“Are you really sure professor Sprout said that the Herbology paper wasn’t due today?”

Harry looked up from the book he was reading over breakfast, a one out of the two tomes he had taken out of the Hogwarts library. The fellow Slytherin looked as distrustful as anyone could possible look, though Harry couldn’t blame him. The essay that professor Sprout had set was considerably longer than anything else any of their other teachers had had them do this far. 

Considering the specifics of the essay that they would have to hand in, as well as how madly Mulciber seemed to be writing down notes on a piece of parchment over his own breakfast, Harry couldn’t blame him. Particularly with how specific the topic set was, and how it required references to investigations only mentioned in the textbook they had been set for the year. Even if he had already finished said essay himself. 

‘One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi’, by Phyllida Spore, was no doubt a great first year textbook. Detailed explanations of specific aspects of each plant wasn’t, however, its main best point. Particularly when compared to some of the other books available at the library. It was a good introduction summary to the subject, and even though Harry still hadn’t really _enjoyed_ it in comparison to others, that had quickly become very clear for him. 

“Of course,” Harry quickly replied. “It’s the reason why she made it so long.” 

The Great Hall was slowly becoming more crowded, and the buzz of students talking and going in and out from the room filled the room. The tables often seemed near-deserted early in the morning. Only the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables usually got the first students to arrive for breakfast. The near-quiet atmosphere that filled the Great Hall when it was almost empty could make every single word stand out with remarkable strength. Making it sometimes uncomfortable to be the first person to speak that early on.

Mulciber frowned, “are you really sure?” He still looked slightly distrustful, but by the way the corners of his mouth were starting to curve upwards it was obvious that it wasn’t as deeply set as just a few seconds before. 

“Really. I’ll show you the notes on my homework planner if you want, Mulciber.”

The boy immediately grinned. Before long, the quill and the parchment he had been writing so madly on had disappeared from the table and into his bag. “Thank Merlin for that, I was terrified. I wouldn’t have been able to have it finished by tomorrow morning, and if I started getting behind this early into the year…”

Avery’s eyes perked up at this with interest, and he turned to look at Mulciber. “I can’t say I’ve started it either, though I’ll try to have it finished by tonight or tomorrow. I can’t stand it. Spending our first Sunday on a Herbology essay once was already bad enough.” 

“Double herbology on Mondays is cruelty,” Mulciber moaned, and Stebbins’ quickly nodded. 

Avery looked around their group, and seemed to focus on Harry. It was only after a few moments of silence that he spoke again. 

“How did you find the essay, Harry?” Avery suddenly asked. “I saw you writing it last Monday at the library, but I never asked.”

“It was… not too bad, I suppose. I find it a bit hard to get myself to work on herbology, so I’ve been doing the essays first thing after classes on Mondays,” Harry said. His voice had come off as neutral, but was true. He could see how it was useful and had been putting in as much effort as he could into the subject, but it didn’t come as easily as, say, transfiguration or DADA did. 

Mulciber didn’t manage to look at Harry without shock. “So you’ve finished it already?” 

The shock turned to surprise as Harry nodded, and he saw Stebbins, from the corner of his eyes, look at him similarly. “How on earth did you manage that?” he asked. 

Harry turned to look at Severus, and then turned back to look at them. They had been working on the essay together those days alongside Lily. “It took a while of searching, but there are some specialized books on bubotubers and their properties at the library.”

Harry’s eyes widened, and Mulciber’s and Stebbins’ half-impressed and half-surprised looks told Harry all he needed to know.

“They were at the very back of the herbology section. They are at the very back of the herbology section, but quite difficult to see. It was only thanks to madam…” 

Harry paused, he couldn’t remember what the name of the librarian in charge of the Hogwarts library and been, and a few seconds went by before he continued. “…It was only thanks to the librarian that I managed to eventually find them,” he finished saying.

Mulciber smiled widely, and looked honestly grateful. Harry glanced at his other two dorm mates, and quickly realized that they both also had a similar expression. Even Avery, who was the one who most often kept a more practiced neutral expression.

“I only really used one that seemed to be really detailed though, I think it must have contained most, if not all, of the information we need for the herbology paper,” Harry clarified after a few seconds.  

“What was the book’s title?” the dark haired boy asked. “Merlin, the library is almost like a maze. There must be thousands of shelves there.”

Harry smiled. He was sure he could almost remember the specific title, but it had already been a few days since he had found the book and he couldn’t really remember the title anymore. It had cited the herb that professor Sprout had specifically mentioned, but any other detail was escaping him. 

Harry frowned. What had it been the title exactly? A Treatise on Bubotubers, or perhaps Known Uses of Bubotubers? The book had been a bright green overlaid with various flowers and quite new, Harry could at least remember that. 

“I can’t remember the name exactly, just that it mentioned bubotubers specifically. It was bright green though, with a lot of flowers and plants drawn on top of the cover, it wasn’t too difficult to find once you worked your way to the specific shelf.” 

Mulciber hummed pensively and crossed his arms, “I imagine if I ask specifying that, I might…” He turned to look at Avery after a few moments. “What do you think, Alden?”

“It could take a while, but if you know how the book looks and the section it’s in, it shouldn’t take too long,” the brown-haired boy quickly said. 

Mulciber’ expression visibly lifted together with Stebbins’ after hearing that. “Where was the section exactly, Harry?” he asked as he turned once again. 

Harry closed his eyes, but smiled. He _could_ remember the turns he had made to reach the specific bookshelf on which he had seen the book on bubotubers, even how narrow the corridor had been. 

“Once you get to the main signaled herbology section, all you have to do is to walk around it to the left, and turn right after you have passed three of the narrow corridors. After that, the shelf is very easy to see, the book cover is very bright.”

Mulciber smiled at him and quickly started noting down the directions that Harry had just given him. Harry found himself smiling back, though it was only after a few moments that he realized that the pureblood boy had called him by his first name. 

Harry was about to take another bite out of a piece of bacon when he heard the unmistakable sound of owls flying into the Great Hall, and a few students cried out with excitement. Avery, sitting in front of him, looked up expectantly. He had been the only one out of his dorm mates that had been apparently waiting for something, though Harry himself was almost certain that he would not be receiving any mail. The last letter of his parents had arrived just two days ago, and he knew it’d take a few more days until their next reply arrived. 

Avery cheered just as Stebbins’ let out a gasp in surprise as a letter fell onto his hands. Harry paid it no mind, and only looked up and at his dorm mate, the one he had spent a few days avoiding, after Avery’s conversation died down completely and changed into total silence. 

Harry looked up and felt his heart skip a beat. His eyes were immediately drawn to the envelope Stebbins’ had placed to a side in order to start reading the letter within. 

A ministry envelope. Black. 

Harry automatically looked away form his dorm mate and at the headmaster, paling. He felt his mind go fuzzy, and mentally couldn’t help but imagine again the shouts he had heard in the dream with Stebbins’ father. Images of the pain he had been in before dying conjured themselves quickly, this time accompanied by a vision of the pit from tonight’s dream. Feeling his world crash around him.

A sludge of doubt and guilt crept through him, making his heart beat madly, and Harry grabbed at his elbows and clung tightly just as Mulciber muttered a knowing sorry.  Avery and Severus quickly followed, and the attention of other nearby Slytherins focused on them. 

Harry’s eyes searched for James’ desperately, despite knowing fully well that his twin would likely be looking away from the Slytherin table and at Black and Pettigrew instead. 

Dumbledore’s attention was only captured when Stebbins’ excused himself with a loud and uneven voice, and the Slytherin quickly got up and started leaving the Great Hall. Harry turned again to the headmaster and stared at him wide-eyed, not noticing the worried way in which Severus had started looking at him. 

He suddenly felt tired as the exhaustion from his near-sleepless night caught up to him. His mind was fuzzy and his heart was racing, and he could only clutch his elbows tighter. 

Professor Riddle, sitting at a side of the teacher’s table, frowned and focused on Harry for a few seconds.

No one noticed the strange expression that immediately appeared on the professor’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait of the chapter, it ended up being quite tough to write, and I ended up doing extensive rewriting before managing to finish it. 
> 
> The idea behind water scribing mainly comes from research of mythology and the lore in Harry Potter, but also ended up being partly inspired by the LoTR Mirror of Galadriel and the lore behind it. 
> 
> Thank you all for all the support, and I hope you enjoy the chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

“Charms,” said professor Flitwick dreamily, “are a spells in a branch of magic that allows for a high versatility in the uses of its spells. Whilst for though other branches of limit are specialise themselves to deal with specific forms of spells or knowledge. Charms often encompass a wide variety of effects and spell types.” His large eyes gazed past the students in his Charms class, as if he were witnessing some sort of mysterious truth that laid hidden within the wide classroom.

He had come to enjoy the professor’s enthusiastic teaching style, even if over the first weeks of term they had only been studying the theory which underpinned the subject. Even though almost none of the other students seemed to share his opinion, judging by their reactions to explanations of the theory in class.

Perhaps, reading about Charms theory in advance over the summer had been a mistake. The class material was undeniably interesting, but Harry had already started practicing a few of the starting spells of the curriculum in his spare time. It had been exciting to practice some of the beginner spells in their textbook after understanding the theory, particularly after he had managed to get one of his books to levitate with _wingardium leviosa_ after only a few tries. He’d have to start studying from the second year books if he progressed too far, but even that hadn’t managed to hamper down his excitement.

Harry couldn’t hep but wonder the type of things he could achieve if he was to use certain spells together with some of other branches of magic. What type of things could be done if he used the correct charms with, for example, transfiguration? How much versatility was there, and how useful could they be? How creative could one be with charms?

The thought alone had made his heart race. The material they had been covering had been fascinating, and even classes like Herbology been interesting, if to a degree, and he had the chance to study and learn things he had never been able to read on before. Useful things that went beyond just studying divination, as much as he understood the need for him to focus on it.

A Hufflepuff student groaned from the other side of the room, though didn’t quite manage to silence the sound completely. Professor Flitwick didn’t notice, and instead turned towards the blackboard and stood on a pile of books in order to start writing notes that Harry half forced himself to focus on. He was too distracted for that, and none of the theory underpinning the interesting subject was quite managing to make him concentrate on professor Flitwick’s lecture.

His mind felt fuzzy, weighed down by too many thoughts. Something that wasn’t helped by the absence of Stebbins’ throughout the week, ever since he had been allowed leave by headmaster Dumbledore to attend his father’s funeral, after receiving _that_ letter. This last week had been—

Harry clenched his fists and let out a shaky breath. Turning away from the blackboard to look at the views of the black lake offered through the open windows.

He felt overwhelmed, even though he wasn’t finding any problems with the course materials. 

He had barely been able to sleep in the past week. He hadn’t been able to have a single dreamless night, and most of the dreams he had seen had made him restless with the violence he had seen.

Harry didn’t know what to do. There were dark bags under his eyes, and he hadn’t been able to pay too much attention in class. Sure, he had been able to take all of the notes he needed and complete the essays he had been given, but he had been too distracted. His mind had been all too fuzzy. Too filled with images of what he had seen all that time back about Stebbins’ father.

He couldn’t concentrate, not at all, and the thought alone of the fact that he had seen the death of his dorm mate’s father was enough to send Harry’s heat racing, and it was made only worse by how he hadn’t heard _anything_ about what had happened.

Only professor Riddle had seemed to know, having called Stebbins to his office on the very day his dorm mate had received the letter. Judging by the rumors that Avery had been retelling over the week, however, it was clear that not a single one of his housemates knew the specifics of how Stebbins’ father had died. Just that he had a week ago.

Aside from hat, he hadn’t heard anything else aside from the few rumours that were floating around Slytherin. Nothing. No students talking about Daily Prophet reports, no nothing… There hadn’t even been an article about a fight taking place near Diagon Alley, and if it hadn’t been for his dream, Harry wouldn’t even have known that there had been a fight. Let alone a death.

Professor Flitwick turned again towards the class, and Harry felt his back straighten automatically, the action of the professor somewhat taking him out from his thoughts, though not managing to completely. Harry looked at the now word-covered blackboard and quickly started writing again on the piece of parchment he had brought for the class. Each phrase was written in a roundish that made them easy to read. When the tiny and eccentric professor resumed his lecture he didn’t manage to quite keep up with the speed of it, but managed to write everything down with only some slightly incomplete sections.

“This multiplicity means that, as you have already seen through the theory underlying the foundations of Charms, as well as through the implications of it, it is a field of magic that allows for one to truly apply and cast magic creatively.” He was speaking near constantly, voice calm and with a certain tint of excitement within it. 

“The only one to truly allow for any wizard or witch to achieve with creativity any desired effect or outcome which they wish to see done. Bar, perhaps, ancient runes, though it is a radically different branch of magic than Charms,” professor Flitwick continued. “This reflects in how one has to cast a charm, as well as the wandwork involved in doing so.”

The worst thing was, that Dumbledore hadn’t said a word to Harry about it yet, and it had terrified him. Harry knew that had made sure to recount all of the detail in his dream to Dumbledore, just like he had been told to by his parents at the start of the year. He had agreed with James, after all.

If anyone could have done anything about his dream that would have been Dumbledore… right? So then why had—

Harry’s fists clenched some more at the memory. He felt his nails dig in slightly into the palm of his hand, and he immediately felt a turmoil of emotions bubble up inside of him. Stebbins. _Stebbins._

He had almost wanted to cry the day he had realized that Stebbins’ father had died all the same. He _never_ cried. Hadn’t ever since…

His reaction had been clear enough for James to have even approached him at the Slytherin table the day his dorm mate had received the black ministry letter without Harry explaining anything to him. His reaction had been that clear, and the worried way he had been looking at him…

Harry let out a shaky breath, briefly closing his eyes in an attempt to concentrate. He was in class. He was ahead of the class material now, but if he allowed himself to fall behind…

Having said nothing about the dream didn’t mean anything… right? It hadn’t mattered with some of the other dreams he had seen, right? It _couldn’t_ matter, what could he do about it, after all? Just— 

Harry leaned back on the chair, quill still moving despite how his hand was starting to cramp. He shook his head, forcing himself to focus on the professor once again.

None of the words the professor had been saying had managed to register in his mind, even as he had kept copying the notes on the blackboard. Besides him, Severus and Avery were dutifully copying down the professor’s every word, whilst Mulciber, sitting behind him, was just barely managing to do the same. The Hufflepuffs on the other side of the class seemed to be in a slightly worse predicament save for a few that didn’t have the looks of distraction that others had.

The door to the classroom suddenly was opened with a loud creak, and Harry immediately found himself glancing up as a determined face peaked through the door of the first year Charms class.

“Excuse me, professor Flitwick?” Harry recognised the Gryffindor student immediately. Frank Longbottom. A distinctive badge could be seen on his robes.

The brown-haired Gryffindor was impossible to not recognize, not with his distinctive features. Harry could recognize him from one of the few formal events he had been taken to by his father, he remembered. He had been one of the prefects guiding Gryffindors to their common room, as well as one of the first to have welcomed them into the house throughout the sorting. He seemed nothing short of friendly, though Harry couldn’t say that he had ever interacted with him. The only things he knew about the Longbottom heir came through things James, who kept more contact with him despite the age difference, told him.

He didn’t seem too weary of interrupting the Charms class.

Professor Flitwick stopped in the middle of his lecture, turning to look  at the older student with surprise and a kind smile on his lips before asking him about the reason for the interruption. Mulciber, who had been sitting behind him, sighed with boredom whilst Avery altered his sitting position. Regardless, not a single Slytherin spoke, even as they all gazed at the Gryffindor prefect with curiosity.

The Gryffindor entered the classroom somewhat calmly, and a few seconds of silence followed before he answered Flitwick’s question. He seemed somewhat cowered despite his height, Harry noticed, creating the illusion of being shorter than he was. “Professor McGonnagal told me to get Harry Potter from the Charms classroom, sir. She said that he was to go to the Headmaster’s office immediately.”

Harry’s heart froze, could it…? The eyes of the rest of the class turned to look at him, and Severus and Mulciber looked at him with unconcealed worry.

“Thank you Mr. Longbottom,” professor Flitwick nodded, before looking expectantly at his class for the mentioned student. “Mr. Potter?”

Harry’s necks napped around at the mention of his name, nodding silently before immediately starting to pack his books and notes quickly. He felt his hand tremble as he finished and rose from his seat. His insides were swirling with confusion, unease, and curiosity. He hadn’t done anything wrong, at least nothing that would merit seeing the headmaster, so it could only be about the dream he had written to Dumbledore about. Why wait this long, however? A week had already passed since—

“The homework is three inches on versatile and uses of Charms, together with examples of spells. Please don’t forget, Mr. Potter.” Flitwick called as Harry neared the door.

Harry nodded in silent acknowledgement, feeling the stares of the rest of the class on him before exiting the room with Frank Longbottom. His mind swirling with the potential possibilities and reasons behind the unexpected and late meeting.

They had taken no more than five steps outside of the classroom before Frank Longbottom quickened his pace and started striding down the empty hallway. They soon reached a staircase at the left side of the end of the hallway. It was steep, and Harry knew from past experience that this one went down through several floors, all the way to the second one.

The silence was deafening, and Harry wasn’t sure what to think of it. Only the sound of their steps reverberated within the different hallways, and Harry swore he could practically feel the infinite progression of the _clack, clack, clacks_ of their steps almost echoing in his mind. Frank Longbottom didn’t say anything to break the silence, and Harry’s trepidation and unease started giving way to a more natural curiosity. Questions started burning in his mind, bringing with them a certain boldness that Harry was slightly familiar with.

The prefect could know why he was being called to see the headmaster. Besides that, Harry could still remember the words of Lucius Malfoy, the Slytherin head boy, at the beginning of the year. Any meeting they had to have with the headmaster would always be announced through their head of house and prefects, so why was it a Gryffindor one that had announced it, with the purpose of having the _Gryffindor_ head of house take him to professor Dumbledore’s office. Harry gazed up, _really_ gazed up, looked at the Gryffindor prefect, and—

“Professor McGonnagal didn’t say why the headmaster wanted to see you, Potter,” the Gryffindor prefect suddenly said. He turned to look at Harry briefly, and he was able to tell with just a glance that the Gryffindor prefect was as in the dark as he was.

Harry contained a sigh and looked down at the stone floor of the floors as they advanced through another hall way and turned left. Lucius had been perfectly clear at the beginning of the year. It was _professor Riddle_ that organized and took care of Slytherins who had to meet with the headmaster, as well as of any issue that belonged to the house. He was their head of house, after all, and even if he didn’t dislike professor McGonnagal… 

“It is the head of each house that takes care of meetings with the headmaster, right?” Harry asked, wanting to make sure he was correct.

Longbottom seemed too top and think about the question, and nodded after a few seconds had gone by. “I am as in the dark as you are, Potter.”

Harry nodded, and continued following the Gryffindor prefect as they strode down the hallway. They’d soon get to McGonnagal’s office, and after that it’d be a walk to Dumbledore’s.

McGonnagal… He had first thought, ever since seeing her on the first day, that she was quite stern and unapproachable. She had definitely looked like it when she had guided them to the Great Hall for the sorting.

She had turned out to be slightly different, at least from what he could tell from Transfiguration lessons. She was stern, yes, though she also was surprisingly kind and approachable. Not just a good teacher, but also fair. Quite different from most of the other teachers, and only professor Riddle stood as a better one in Harry’s mind. 

Professor Riddle’s no-nonsense yet easygoing style of teaching had made the Defence classes immediately stand out. The theory behind the class had been fascinating to learn about, and Harry was sure that the professor was the sort of person that could probably make anything interesting. There were stories, and he didn’t doubt them, about the Slytherin head of house being quite strict. He was fair in class, however, and according to what he had overheard from older Slytherins he was nothing but helpful to the students in his house.

He knew that James had a bad feeling about him, despite admitting that he thought he was a great Defence teacher. Having seen how quickly the Slytherin head of house had made sure to meet with Stebbins in his office, however… Harry didn’t know what to really think, if he was completely honest. Even though he knew what his twin would think if he were to share his thoughts. His dorm mate had been teary for only a few minutes before being taken by professor Riddle to his office. He still had been afterwards, but Harry had been able to tell how much calmer the other Slytherin had been.

Professor Riddle couldn’t be as simple as his parents and brother made him out to be, surely. He was complex, and probably far more than what he knew he imagined. Even despite having seen hints to such a complexity with his slightly basic knowledge of face-reading.

Longbottom came to a sudden halt, and Harry nearly walked into him after the other boy’s sudden stop.

They had reached McGonnagal’s office. The Gryffindor prefect knocked twice and didn’t move until a soft _‘come in’_ was heard from the inside.

A loud creak announced their presence to the Gryffindor head of house as he then opened the door, leading Harry into a bright and warm-looking office. A few bookshelves lined the walls, though none of the furniture looked particularly remarkable or outstanding. There was a somewhat relaxing atmosphere inside of the office, and the warm atmosphere relaxed Harry slightly.

“I’ve brought Harry Potter, professor McGonnagal,” he said with a confident voice. Harry maintained a neutral expression.

The professor smiled kindly and nodded. “Very well, Mr. Longbottom. You may now return to class.”

Frank Longbottom nodded, and immediately turned so he could start leaving the room. McGonnagal’s eyes followed him, and it was only then, when Harry looked around the warm-looking, that he came to finally notice the other student that was in the office.

Harry’s eyes widened. James.

So they _were_ going to talk about the dream he had dreamt, and how Stebbins’ father had still died.

McGonnagal looked at both of of them for a few seconds before standing up.“Now, gentlemen, I believe Headmaster Dumbledore wanted to talk with both of you,” McGonnagal said with that same calm and kind voice. “If you could follow me.”

James’ snapped around at his head of house, looking surprised, and Harry turned to look back at professor McGonnagal. He clenched his fists, not being able to stop anger as it bubbled inside him.

Why had it taken so _long_?

 

* * *

 

“Ah, Harry, James. Good afternoon, sit down,” professor Dumbledore smiled, gesturing towards to chairs in front of his desk. His eyes seemed to be glinting in the midday sun, making the man seem nothing if not genial and kind at a first glance.

Harry nodded, and quickly went to sit down on the chair as James nervously did the same. He immediately glanced up as soon as he had, looking the headmaster’s office curiously.

Of all of the teacher’s offices Harry had seen so far, even though they admittedly weren’t many, Dumbledore’s seemed by far the most interesting, even if looking overly cluttered.

It was a large and somewhat beautiful circular room, full of little noises. There were a number of curious silver instruments standing on spindle-legged tables, whirring and emitting small puffs of smoke. At the centre of the room was an enormous desk, and, sitting on a shelf besides it, an old-looking brown wizard’s hat — the Sorting Hat. Close to it was a tall fireplace of marble and stone, a small fire burning within it.

Bright light fell into the room through the many windows of the room, illuminating the shades of red that seemed most common within it. Tall bookshelves stood in the spaces of the circular room without windows, and Harry didn’t have a doubt that it probably was an incredible collection. A phoenix was perched on a stand at a side of the room, relatively close to Dumbledore, which James had seemed to be fascinated by the minute they had followed McGonnagal into the office. It was a beautiful bird, Harry had to admit, with bright red, orange, and yellow feathers.

Directly opposite to it, between two particularly large bookshelves, was a tall basin-like recipient that made Harry’s eyes widen as he recognized it. A pensive. Almost identical to the illustration he had seen in _‘Scrying and Divination: Separating Myth from Reality’_. The book hadn’t been too detailed as to their use, though Harry thought he understood the basics. They were used to see again whichever memories the user wished to, though were, apparently, quite rare to see.

The walls around the room were covered with the portraits old headmasters and headmistresses, most of whom seemed to be sleeping. One of them was hanging from the wall directly behind the huge desk. Its occupant seemed awake, and was gazing silently at both Harry and James. The name beneath it seemed somewhat worn out, though harry could just barely make it out, ‘Armando Dippet’. The man in the painting looked disapproving, at least judging by the way the corners of his mouth were turned, and Harry couldn’t help but think that he already knew what the headmaster would talk to them about. The look in his eyes was unmistakable, and seemed to have hints at many different emotions.

Could a painting really do such a thing?

Harry closed his eyes. He couldn’t help but feel slightly intimidated, truth be told.

The room, though beautiful and undeniably interesting, seemed almost too bright, too tall. It seemed radically different from the Slytherin common room and dorms, and as he looked around with curiosity, Harry couldn’t help but realise just how comfortable he had grown with the Slytherin dungeons and the wide views into the black lake. Just how used he had grown to seeing and relaxing around subdued greens, blacks, and silvers.

The turmoil of emotions that had been distracting him over the morning and throughout the past week had subdued slightly. He would finally know. Finally get to understand why what he had seen had still happened, and why Dumbledore hadn’t prevented it.

Even the anger he had felt at McGonnagal’s office had subdued slightly. Morphing itself into something closer to curiosity.

There had to be an explanation, something logical, and whatever it was, once Harry knew, he was certain that he’d be able to continue going on through the week calmer than he was. The week wouldn’t be as unbearably long as this one had been, and he wouldn’t be as sheerly overwhelmed as he had been feeling.

He had been confused at the amount of time it had taken for the headmaster to talk to him. Frustrated at how a week had gone by with _nothing_ being heard. Despite his frustration, however, he couldn’t help but lighten up slightly at the sight of the headmaster. He could still remember the words he had told him so long ago, when he had first seen and prophesied Abraxas Malfoy’s death. How he had calmed his parents and helped him come to terms with his gift. The reassuring and unassuming way he had looked at Harry even whilst he himself could barely muster a word.

_“Don’t fear your dreams, no matter what you see or what people may say, Harry, and no matter how great a responsibility it seems. It is our choices, Harry, that show us what we truly are far more than our abilities. What happened to Abraxas had nothing to do with your dream, even if you already knew it would happen.”_

“Professor Dumbledore, you wanted to see us?” Harry said, doing his best to keep a respectful tone.

His mind went back to the lessons his mother had given him on etiquette. To the grace that he had seen Lucius Malfoy along with other purebloods, in particular, display in their interactions. He didn’t want to accidentally insult the headmaster, and he still felt too overwhelmed from the week to be able to act in any other way. Too conscious of the fact that it had been—

“We’re not in trouble, aren’t we?” came James’ sudden voice. He had looked scared at McGonnagal’s office, as if he had been awaiting some sort of punishment for something, and still looked nervous now. Worried.

Dumbledore shook his head, smiling. The same kind glint still in his eyes was still in his eyes. “Of course not, there’s no need to worry, my boy. Nothing wrong has happened,” Dumbledore said. James’ expression brightened visibly at the words. “I’m sure you’ve been enjoying your time at Hogwarts so far?” 

“Of course! I—,” James openly grinned, seeming to leave his worries behind. “It’s been even better than that I imagined.” His twin looked a bit bashful, and looked at Harry. His expression was as bright as it could get.

“I,” Harry said, muttering. “I’ve been enjoying the classes so far. There are many things I want to learn. I still can’t quite believe I can learn about things like transfiguration and defence”.

Dumbledore seemed to beam, “I’m glad you both think so.”

The headmaster turned to eye a glass recipient full of a type of sweets that Harry couldn’t quite recognise, yet seemed familiar nonetheless. He reached and picked one, immediately unwrapping and eating it. He then looked at James and Harry again. “Lemon drop?” he asked, with that same light and cheerful mood, gesturing towards the pot of sweets. 

Harry shook his head, still feeling too weary and tired from the past week to be able to really think about _having_ sweets, though James grinned and quickly reached for one.

“Thank you, sir,” his twin said.

Harry couldn’t help but notice just how much a simple conversation had calmed James’ down. A part of him couldn’t help but think that perhaps he shouldn’t be. He had seen enough of how his father, or rather, the people his father did business with, to have noticed the strange and dance-like ways they seemed to talk and engage others in.

Even with the limited experience he had had in seeing those sort of things — it had always been James that had been taken out to events, meetings, and parties with his father and mother — the way other pureblood used language had seemed… interesting, to say the least. Even though he had never really given it any thought.

Perhaps Dumbledore’s question had been slightly like those?

James looked at Dumbledore curiously, as if he were about to ask something else. When no words came immediately from the headmaster, who seemed to be thinking about something, Harry wasn’t able to really help himself. 

“If you don’t mind me, sir. I…” Harry started saying, though not quite managing to dare himself to finish his sentence.

Dumbledore looked at Harry, and Harry gathered the courage to speak. He wanted, needed to know what had happened. 

“It’s about the dream, isn’t it?” he asked. It couldn’t be about anything else. Besides him, Harry felt James’ eyes on him. Harry’s words seemed to have brought back the worry with which he had been looking at him throughout the week. Reminded him of it.

Dumbledore seemed to deflate slightly and nodded, though still looking cheerful. “Yes, as I’m sure you know, last week your dorm mate’s father passed away, much like you dreamt,” he started saying. “I apologize for taking so long to talk to you both about the events you heard about. After the events, it took a while before an investigation was conducted and I got to know of what happened that unfortunate day.”

Harry’s heart fell. “I—, Sir, but people were warned, weren’t they? How could that happen?”

Dumbledore looked at Harry with compassion. “They were, just… things still got out of control. Stebbins’ father still attacked, and one of the aurors overreacted. I’m afraid that Stebbins’ father still got hit by a curse.”

Harry stared at the headmaster with shock. How—, what—?

_Why?_

Hadn’t they all been _warned_?

His heart was racing and his eyes were starting to tear up slightly. Harry could barely hear his own words as his mind was clouded with thoughts and memories of the dream. The way Stebbins’ father had died… “But they were all warned, weren’t they, sir? It should have been different, it should have—!”

“Harry, my boy, calm down. It wasn’t your fault in any way. Knowing about these things doesn’t mean anything,” Dumbledore said calmly, offering Harry a friendly look. 

Harry nodded, though not really thinking about the headmaster’s words. James spoke up at his twins’ silence.

“Sir, if you don’t mind me asking,” he started saying, “this wasn’t reported anywhere, wasn’t it? I know it didn’t, no other students knew about it. Are we sure it really happened?”

Dumbledore turned to look at James, “I’m afraid it did, my boy, I’m afraid it did.” The headmaster’s phoenix flapped is wings from a side. “It is precisely because of that that I wanted to talk to you. The situation surrounding his death is quite delicate.”

Harry glanced up at the headmaster, “delicate?” Harry paused. Had he been right originally? Should he have— “Was there something wrong that I should have told other people about? Could it have been that?”

Dumbledore offered an apologetic look and shook his head. “Rather the contrary, Harry. You don’t need to worry about the reasons, your parents are already aware of them.”

“Sir?” Harry’s heart was beating even faster as he kept looking at the headmaster.

“It would be best if you didn’t say anything at all about what you saw, my boy. Doing so could be quite dangerous for you, as you know, and people would panic if they heard.” 

Harry’s eyes widened, “but, Sir, what if Stebbins—” He paused, trying to gather his words. His mind felt fuzzy and his palms were sweaty. He couldn’t think. “Can’t I say anything? Even if I see something else? Something I could prevent?”

Dumbledore shook his head, and Harry’s blood froze. “Harry, my boy. You’re too young to understand for now, but know that it would truly be too dangerous. There are people out there that wouldn’t hesitate to harm you and your family, and you wouldn’t want that, wouldn’t you?” 

Harry sat speechless as an instruments on Dumbledore’s desk emitted a puff of smoke and another one whirred. Fawkes kept flapping his wings, and Harry couldn’t help but notice the worried expression of the painting behind Dumbledore’s desk before looking down at the floor.

“But what if that means something bad could happen to someone? What if that means that I accidentally—”

“No, Harry, it would be too dangerous. Though things may seem calm now…” Dumbledore paused, and Harry looked up again. “If you see something else in dreams, whatever it is, Harry, just tell me and i’ll take care of it. Nothing like this will happen again.”

Harry turned to James to seek support, but knew immediately that, no matter how worried he was, his twin would agree with Dumbledore and his parents. That he thought Harry’s security came first, and that if they didn’t know what was really going on…

He turned to look at the fire. The flames were burning bright and tall, their colour a deep red and yellow. The fire was alive and strong.

Harry sighed, feeling himself break down. What if it still didn’t stop things from happening?

He quickly lost himself in thought, and didn’t manage say anything else. Dumbledore, Harry assumed, thinking it was all said and done then, allowed them to leave his office in order to return to classes or wait for lunch to start. James departed happily, if a bit pensive, and Harry followed him absentmindedly through the door McGonnagal had led them through when taking them there.

Harry only really spoke again a few minutes after seeing the Gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the headmaster’s office set itself back on its place. He stopped walking suddenly, and James immediately turned towards him with a look of worry.

“Harry? Are you okay? You seem…” James asked, muttering. His eyes on Harry’s.

Harry looked around uncomfortably, not quite managing to settle his eyes on James’ own, and instead focused on the empty hallway behind James. Lunch would likely start soon, and he after what Dumbledore had said… Talking to James would sure help. It always did. He was his strongest and closest friend, he had always helped him, and—

“What do you think, James? Do you think he’s right?” Harry suddenly asked. He still felt torn by what Dumbledore had said, by the fact that _nothing_ had changed in the end. He knew that professor Dumbledore was likely right all those years ago when he had told him to not fear his dreams, that he wasn’t responsible in any way for them, but…

Harry grimaced. What if he _was_? What if by saying nothing he was dooming someone to his death. 

James broke eye contact, looking lost. “I don’t know, Harry,” he said with a low voice, sounding slightly insecure. “I think he is, I mean,” he continued, “he’s Dumbledore, right? The best wizard of our time! The man that defeated Grindelwand! How could he not know?”

Harry looked away from the empty corridor and back at his twin. “I know, but, James,” Harry said, pausing to attempt to put all of the thoughts and overwhelming feelings he had suffered through all of the week. “What if he isn’t? What if by saying nothing I’m killing someone? I—, I don’t know if I could live with that. James, what if Dumbledore’s wrong, and the only way to _change_ things is to—”

“No, Harry,” James interrupted.

He was frowning, and Harry could tell that he was starting to get angry. The look of worry seemed to remain amidst the anger, however, obvious and clear in twin’s face.

“You know it’s dangerous, and it isn’t just mum and dad saying it! Dumbledore thinks so too! You can’t—,”  James looked slightly desperate. “What if something were to happen to you, Harry? Besides, what you dream isn’t caused by you, you’re not responsible!”

Harry’s eyes dropped, and the same overwhelming feeling he had felt when Dumbledore had said the same things returned in full force.

“I know you’re worried, Harry. You hate seeing people suffer, I know you do. But… This is for your own good, you know? Your dreams… We really can’t do anything about it. Just trust Dumbledore and—”

Harry felt his calm start to disappear. James didn’t understand. He knew that Harry had dreamt of the death of Stebbins’ father, but he hadn’t seen what Harry had. The fear in the man as he had been confronted, the _pain_ and the _screams_ as he had been—

“James, the father of my dorm mate _died_. He was murdered, and no one cares about it. Not even the Daily Prophet reported on it,” Harry almost shouted. His heart was racing again. “You didn’t see how devastated he was. He—, I—!”

“Harry…” James said. His expression softened as he came to see and understand again just how torn and overwhelmed Harry felt. Just how bad the turmoil of feelings that had been burning within him for the last week was.

James seemed about to continue when he suddenly froze as he looked at a point behind Harry with distrust and fear in his eyes. Harry turned around quickly only to be met by the familiar figure and sharp gaze of his Defence teacher.

“I trust everything is okay, Mr. Potter?” Harry’s Head of House said, eyes focusing on Harry and James.

Professor Riddle looked calm and composed, as he always did during classes. He was wearing teaching robes of the finest quality, standing and holding himself up in a way that spoke of nothing but charm and collected confidence. His expression and dark eyes betrayed nothing, even whilst looking directly at the both of them.

Besides him, James seemed to be as nervous as he ever humanly could, judging by his muted silence and the way he was staring at their Defence professor. Harry looked up and into the man’s eyes, not managing to feel as nervous as his twin even as he spotted that strange red glint in the man’s eyes.

“Y—, yes, of course,” James stuttered. A few long seconds went by. “We were just talking about what professor Dumbledore told us, but it’s all good now.”

Professor Riddle smiled in a gentle sort of way, eyes mimicking the smile. “That is good to know, Mr. Potter. I heard raised voices on my way to see headmaster Dumbledore and found myself worried.” Nothing in his expression changed.

“Ah, no. Everything is fine, right Harry?” James said whilst turning to look at Harry with pleading eyes.

Harry looked away from the sharp gaze of his Head of House to look at his twin. He was cowering slightly, nervous, and Harry remembered all too suddenly that his twin didn’t trust the Slytherin Head of House whatsoever. He turned back to look at professor Riddle, straightening his posture and reminiscing back to the etiquette lessons of his mother. 

“We were just having an argument, Sir. I’m sorry if the raised voices caused alarm,” Harry said calmly, helped by the fact that he wasn’t really scared of the man. He could see the basics of how the man was through his beginner knowledge of face reading, and, at least according to the theory, the lines and features of people didn’t often lie. As far as he knew, he hadn’t seen yet a reason to really distrust professor Riddle or fear him.

He wanted to understand the situation on his own before deciding what to do and how to definitively act, and for that he would have to learn with what he knew — divination. It would just be a matter of gazing into the surface of water and attempt to see things through scrying.

“Yes, it was just that,” James quickly added.

Professor Riddle gazed at them in silence. James shifted, and turned to look in the direction of one of the hallways. His thoughts easy to see. A few seconds went by before the professor spoke again.

The Slytherin Head of House briefly glanced up at the corridor James was looking at, understanding. “Perhaps, Mr. Potter, since your business with the headmaster is concluded, you may want to head to the Great Hall before the the lunch break ends,” the he said politely.

James nodded “I—, of course, professor!” He then turned to leave, looking at Harry and gesturing for him to do the same.

“Thank you, professor,” Harry said, making sure to politely nod at professor Riddle before he turning away to follow James. His twin was walking away quickly, and Harry had to increase his walking pace in an to attempt to catch up with him. Feeling the sharp eyes of the Defence professor following him as he walked away.

The Gargoyle that hit Dumbledore’s office had nearly been left fully behind by the time Harry almost caught up with his twin. He had just passed the portrait of a sleeping wizard when he stopped, suddenly remembering the books that his Head of House had recommended to him already so long ago at Flourish and Blotts.

He had never thanked him for them, had he? No, he didn’t think he had, and he ought to do so even if professor Riddle didn’t remember the encounter. The books were fascinating, and runes were something radically different to anything he had encountered so far. 

Harry looked apologetically at his twin before turning away and walking back towards professor Riddle, who seemed to have been about to walk away and into the headmaster’s office. It didn’t take long for the Defence professor to hear his approach, and the man was gazing at him with a hint of something akin to curiosity before Harry had even spoken.

“Is there anything you need, Mr. Potter?” professor Riddle asked. Tone polite and courtly.

“Yes, Sir,” Harry said, nodding. He paused to briefly gathered his thoughts before continuing. “I realised whilst studying a few days ago that I never thanked you for the books you recommended me at Flourish and Blotts.”

Harry immediately knew by the way his Defence teacher’s knowing gaze that he remembered. Around them, the hallway remained in complete silence, without a single student even around the area. Giving the impression that classes still were going on despite the bright midday sun.

“There’s no need to thank me, Mr. Potter. Though I believe you already did at the store,” professor Riddle said, politely and perfectly composed. “Though I take you’ve been enjoying them?”

Harry felt his cheeks heat slightly at the mistake, but soon forgot about it as his mind went back to the different things he had managed to learn so far on Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. He felt his mood shift and lighten at the thought of the interesting subjects.

“They both are fascinating, Sir,” Harry said. “I had never heard or seen anything like them. I’ve been reading both books after finishing other classwork, though I haven’t advanced as much as I would have wished.”

The curiosity in professor Riddle immediately became more noticeable. “I think you’ll find that both subjects are quite useful, Mr. Potter. Though it is interesting for a student to have an interest during their first year.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile. Both subjects were so different from the others that he had been able to study at home, so focused and methodical. Arithmancy was radically different from any divination which he had studied, almost mathematical, and Ancient Runes…

“They are different from anything I’ve had the chance to study before, Sir,” Harry said. He was almost as excited to advance in his study of the two subjects as he was in learning how to practice water scrying. He wanted to learn how their use could benefit him.

“I think you’ll find that both Arithmancy and Ancient Runes have more applications than many wizards and witches come to realise, Mr. Potter,” professor Riddle said.

Harry remained still, silently thinking through the words of his Head of House, not quite knowing what to say. He glanced at the Gargoyle that led to the headmaster’s office, and suddenly remembered Dumbledore’s words. His bright mood suddenly dropped.

Harry looked down. What would he do if he saw another dream related to someone he knew, a dream of something terrible happening? Was he really to always remain silent?

Professor Riddle seemed to sense his change of mood, and he turned to look at the gargoyle. He had a strange glint in his eyes, and Harry noticed how the strange red glint briefly shone brighter.

“Mr. Potter,” professor Riddle suddenly said, making Harry glance back up to look at him.

“Sir?” Harry asked.

The man looked at Harry with sharp eyes. His expression was unreadable. “Remember, if you are ever in need of it, that you can always come to my office. As your Head of House, I am allowed to handle any problem you might find yourself in. Slytherin takes care of its own.”

Harry’s eyes widened in surprise. It wasn’t something he had thought of until now, even though he had heard as much from the Slytherin prefects about their Head of House. The respect with which they all spoke about their Head of House spoke volumes, much like how Avery had spoken about him at the start of the year.

“Of course, Sir.,” Harry finally said. He glanced back at the Gargoyle, heart racing.

_Perhaps…?_

“Professor Riddle, Sir?” Harry suddenly asked, turning to face his Defence professor again and looking straight at him again.

Professor Riddle looked at him quizzically, remaining silent and prompting Harry to continue.

Harry knew the warning that his brother had given him, as well as that of his parents, but asking one question couldn’t do any harm, couldn’t it? After all, the man had just offered his help if he were to ever need it, and Harry doubted that a single question could give anything away. The last week had been hell, and he had barely been able to concentrate in much of anything. Even now the turmoil of emotions he had felt kept burning inside of him, and—

Yes, one question wouldn’t do any harm. Particularly if he was obtuse and secretive about his real question and lied about it. He couldn’t risk giving anything away or accidentally making anyone suspicious, but Harry needed to know someone else's opinion. An opinion from someone that wasn't aware of the facts and the sheer extent of Harry's problem with his gift. He wouldn't trust his Head of House with anything, after that. At least not relating to his dreams. 

If professor Riddle was untrustworthy, then so long as he kept the details out it would most likely be okay. Harry just had to make sure that his gift was kept hidden away from others. 

The morality and correctness about his dreams in this particular situation overwhelmed Harry, and the full implications escaped him. He likely was one of the only people, besides those which had been involved, who knew the full extent of just how much Stebbins’ father had suffered.

Harry closed his eyes and gathered courage. “Sir, if someone discovered something bad was going to happen and didn’t say anything about it, would they be guilty because of not warning them?” he asked.

Professor Riddle stared at him in silence, as if thinking about the question. “Would they be guilty, Mr. Potter?” he started saying. “Has something happened in your family that is perhaps worrying you?”

Harry felt his heart skip a beat as his Defence professor followed and responded to the lie he had just said. He had believed it, then. 

“Not exactly, Sir. It’s just something I discovered and have been keeping from my brother,” Harry quickly answered. “Nothing wrong has happened,” Harry took a deep breath in, not quite knowing what to say. “It’s just something I’ve been thinking about.” 

Professor Riddle’s eyes seemed to soften, even as he continued to pointedly look at him. He smiled in a way that seemed reassuring, though the smile, Harry noticed, was radically different from professor Dumbledore’s.

“Have you ever about the myth of Icarus and Daedalus, Mr. Potter?”

Harry frowned, not quite understanding. “It’s a legend, isn’t it?” he asked. He had only seen its name passingly in a few books, but he didn’t know much about it. Only that it was a legend muggles often told, though apparently of magical origins.

“Indeed, Mr. Potter, one from Ancient Greece.” professor Riddle started saying. “Daedalus was a great inventor who had been locked up in a tower with his son, Icarus, to prevent the knowledge of an invention to spread to the public.”

Harry kept looking at professor Riddle, feeling himself become more absorbed in his words.

“With every escape route being blocked, he fabricated wings for himself and Icarus. Tying feathers together, securing them with string and wax, and making them look like those of a bird,” professor Riddle continued. “Daedalus escaped with his son by flight after equipping both himself and his son with the wings. However, there was one thing he warned him of.”

“One thing he warned him of?” Harry said, repeating the professor’s words. 

“There was only one problem with the wings, which Daedalus had to warn Icarus about. They could not fly too high, because the heat of the sun would melt the wax, nor too low, because the sea foam would soak the feathers.”

Professor Riddle paused to observe at Harry, allowing a few seconds to go by before continuing. No one had still gotten close to the hallway.

“They had passed a number of cities by the time that Icarus, forgetting his father’s warning, began to soar upwards towards the sun. The wax that held the feathers together melted, and they came off. Icarus ended up falling into the sea, and drowned,” he finished saying.

Professor Riddle then stopped to stare at Harry for a few seconds, still observing him. “Now, Mr. Potter. Why do you think it is that Icarus fell?”

Harry frowned. “Icarus ignored his father’s warning and few too high, Sir”

“Exactly,” the Head of House said. “But do you think that, perhaps, he was guilty of not having warned his son enough? Or that, had he not warned him, Icarus wouldn’t have dared to soar so high?”

Harry’s eyes widened as he finally understood the meaning and purpose behind the other’s words. “Icarus could have still fallen even if Daedalus had warned him more,” he debated. “Icarus could have ended up dying no matter what Daedalus died.”

“Of course, Mr. Potter, Daedalus would have no way of knowing what fate should befall Icarus no matter how many warnings he gave.” Professor Riddle smiled at Harry’s words, pleased at how Harry followed what he meant. “However, you’re missing something that also partly answers your question.”

“What is it, Sir?” Harry asked, feeling oddly proud at how the Defence professor had been pleased at his following. His heart was racing, and he was sure he could practically hear its beat.

“Well, Mr. Potter. Had Daedalus hadn’t warned Icarus, his son would have likely flown too high or too low almost immediately. Dying before he ever got to fly away from their imprisonment.” 

Harry stared at his Head of House, not quite managing to say anything as his mind raced through the other’s words.

“Daedalus’ warning could always be ineffective, but had he not given it Icarus’ would have been certainly doomed.” Professor Riddle smiled. “Does this answer your question, Mr. Potter? 

Harry nodded, and suddenly remembered the easy-going confidence and charm with which his Defence professor had been interacting with Abraxas Malfoy, in his dream from all those years ago.

 

* * *

 

A quarter of an hour after dusk the sky held the color of iron shot through with odd streaks of azure. The blue-like light washed into the room through the wide windows that gazed into the black lake together with some odd streaks of rust and dark, the greens and silvers of the elegant baroque room somehow looking anything but. Harry sat on an armchair of dark baroque wood and plush green on a side of the elegant common room, gazing out through the half-tinted glass of the windows. Several schools of fish swam peacefully around amidst the blue light that made it to the bottom of the lake. Far into the depths of which, directly opposite of the common room’s windows, sat the merpeople’s village.

A light buzz of noise filled the common room. There was a blur of students as they entered or left the common room, with very few of them deciding to sit on the arms chairs littered around the wide room. Giving the wide room a strange, near-empty feeling despite the many students inside.

A copy of the first year Herbology textbook sat atop Harry’s lap, forgotten. He hadn’t managed to focus on anything after the events of the day and what professor Dumbledore and Riddle had said. Reason why he had chosen to stay at the Common Room rather than immediately go to the library after classes. The light and ambience of the common room was relaxing, even if he usually felt that there were too many people relaxing and working on it, or coming and going from the common room. 

The turmoil of emotions had only kept going and burning with feelings of guilt. Too many questions plagued him, far too many to simply settle and accept the headmaster’s words. He trusted the headmaster and the word of his parents, but what professor Riddle had said had made _sense_ in a way that had surprised Harry and left him in deep thought.

“The Prophet didn’t publish the story, Lucius, didn’t you notice?”

Harry’s blood froze, and he turned around almost automatically to face the voice, unconsciously straightening as he saw a tall and blond sixth year student he just barely managed to recognize talking to Lucius Malfoy. He had only heard his name in passing — Thorfinn Rowle, he thought — a Slytherin student of the same age as Lucius Malfoy, who was usually seen together with him.  Their voices were relatively hushed as they made their way through the Slytherin common room, though loud enough for Harry to just barely manage to overhear amidst the conversations of other students.

They were both heading for the dorms, having just entered the common room. The few Slytherin students inside seemed to make way for them, even as they directed themselves towards the door that led out of the common room. Harry found himself staring at them, briefly wondering about the amount of respect that most of the other Slytherins were looking at them with, as well as the envy and anger that a few others seemed to harbor instead.

Lucius Malfoy.

Harry couldn’t say he truly knew much about the now-Malfoy Lord, having only seen him on a number of occasions, before he had stopped going with his father to meet other purebloods. He knew that the white-blond Slytherin ought to have learnt about what Harry had told to his father, Abraxas, all that time back. When Harry had curiously wanted to check why his dream had seemed to include so many real-life details.

The Slytherin Head Boy, however, had never made a move to say anything to Harry, or even so much as approach him. Not even now that Harry had arrived at Hogwarts. Neither had he heard him talk or say anything about Harry.

Harry had to admit that he was curious, if only because he was almost sure that the other boy _knew_.

“Barely anyone in the school even knows what happened.”

Lucius turned around abruptly, sending a look to the sixth year that left no room for questions. He looked impassive, and Harry couldn’t detect the faintest sign of emotion on his face even as he all but glared at the other sixth year student. The voice of the sixth year had been quite low, and Harry had just barely managed to hear their words about the buzz of the other students thanks to where he had been sitting down.

The tall student sighed after Lucius remained silent after a few seconds, seemingly deflating. “I’m just saying it’s quite strange, Lucius. I know you heard the details already. Attacks are regularly reported, and a death at a place near Diagon Alley means first page.” He looked around with an air of uncertainty, “it was political, wasn’t it?” 

Lucius sent him another pointed look, though not as sharp as his previous one. “You know it was, it’s the only explanation.” He had a strange look in his eyes, now.

Rowle glanced at Lucius suspiciously. “You can’t deny it’s strange though, Lucius. The man didn’t have a single seat in the Wizengamot, let alone a strong presence in politics.”

“Undeniably political all the same, Thorfinn, and you know precisely why,” Lucius said firmly.

“Yes,” Rowle whispered, looking worried. “Is _that_ true, then? Some sort of target against the Knights of Walpurgis?”

Lucius shot look of alarm at Rowle, and the sixth year immediately quieted down, and Harry looked away as the two of them started to walk by him. More students seemed to have started coming out of the dorm rooms in order to go to the Great Hall, and a slightly chaotic order seemed to have enveloped the common room.

Harry froze once he looked up again only to see the pale-blue of Lucius Malfoy’s eyes on him. Remaining frozen in his spot even as the Malfoy heir said nothing. The whispers and voices had started growing louder, and Harry just barely managed to notice the form of one of his dorm mates, Severus, as he came up from the dorms.

Lucius Malfoy started walking away together with the other sixth year student, Rowle, gracefully after a few seconds of looking at Harry, expression unreadable.

He was still staring when he heard the door to the common room open, leading inside a group of third years Harry had unfortunately come to be quite familiar with.

Evan Rosier, together with two of his friends.

Harry heard an incantation he couldn’t recognize before he could even react, and he fell onto his knees and then the floor as a sharp pain filled his head.

He barely registered Lucius Malfoy walking away and starting to descend into the dorms area, and instead glanced in the direction the hex had come from. Doing so quickly enough to see Evan Rosier laughing at him. The people around the common room simply stared with expressions that Harry didn’t quite manage to recognise, neither doing nor saying anything.

Harry grasped at his head. It was pounding. He didn’t know what spell it was or how counter it, and—

He closed his eyes, only opening them again when he felt someone touching his arm.

 _Severus_ , he immediately realised. 

The unmistakable boy seemed to look worried, though it took Harry a second to realise he was helping him up.

“Come, Harry. I’ll take you to the infirmary.”

Harry allowed himself to be helped out of the Common Room by Severus, not being able to really _think_. Around him, and before he left, he slowly became aware of the now-hushed whispers of the students who had been in the common room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was initially tempted to split this chapter in half, leaving the appearance of Riddle for the next one (or the chapter after that), though ended up deciding against it in favour of adding more content to the chapter and starting to introduce certain ideas in the plot. 
> 
> Since the cast of characters in Slytherin at this time seems quite small, in order to avoid using nameless 'sixth year' and 'seventh year' students I decided to take some liberties (at least potentially, considering the lack of information in canon) concerning Thorfinn Rowle's age. I hope this isn't too much of a problem, though from what I understand he'd likely have attended Hogwarts roundabout this time. It ended up taking me this long to realise that, contrary to what I had initially assumed, Lucius Malfoy would have been in his sixth year in Hogwarts rather than his seventh one. A relief, since it potentially opens a lot of doors as far as politics in the plot go. 
> 
> As a more important note, and partly following some suggestions by readers in comments along with an idea I had, I'll most likely use a time-skip in the future to go into Harry's fifth or sixth year as soon as the necessary set-up in his earlier years is done. 
> 
> If things go according to plan, I'll likely reach at least the beginning of second year, and the time-skip will probably occur between chapters 15 to 20, depending on how things go. I might rename the chapters to show this a bit more clearly, dividing both times as a 'part one' and 'part two', but with all of it still posted here as 'End Without Sorrow'. 
> 
> Thank you all for all the support (reading comments and hearing people's opinions is really fantastic), and I hope you enjoy the chapter! Like always, the next chapter will be up in a few days.


	8. Chapter 8

‘Methods and Symbols in Scrying: A Complete Guide’ sat heavily on Harry’s lap, looking as worn out and old as it had at the Hogwarts library. 

The yellowed book was open to a page on the second chapter, and a neat and compact table which seemed too filled-up with items and lists to be able to fit was plain to see. The text was clearly presented, if only a bit small, and interlaid with it were some illustrations of common symbols seen in visions seen through water scrying. The language used in the book wasn’t too clear, it seemed overly archaic. A fact that wasn’t helped by the lack of references as to how to one could start learning to practice scrying. Both when it came to scrying mirrors or water scrying.

Around him, the Great Hall was just starting to get filled with students. It was early, though not too much, and the majority of the student body would soon be having breakfast. A light breeze seemed to fill the wide hall as a gentle heat fell from the tall windows. Lingering dust particles looked ablaze in the early-autumn heat, and though the relatively stoic-looking floors and roofs seemed oddly barren in the absence of much of the student body, the Great Hall seemed to brim with life. 

Harry had arrived early for breakfast that morning, having been released from the infirmary that morning, and had walked to the Great Hall to get breakfast together with Severus after seeing his dorm mate at one of the hallways near the infirmary. 

The explanation for his presence near the outside of the infirmary had been given in the simple and up-to-the-point fashion that Harry had quickly learnt characterized Severus. A simple: “I wanted to see if you needed any help getting to classes, after yesterday”. 

Perhaps that had been the most surprising thing of them all.

He hadn’t really talked to Severus more than to his other dorm mates, nothing that had given any sort of indication of real proximity. Not _really_ , despite all the contact he had had with the black-haired boy and the amount of studying they had done together. Despite that, the other Slytherin had still helped him after being hexed. Going as far as intending to go to the infirmary early on in the morning to either visit or help Harry. After the surprise of seeing the other there, he hadn’t been able but to thank Severus for the help from the previous night, though he couldn’t help but feel he hadn’t really done enough. 

Harry hadn’t _expected_ anything like it to happen. Not from his dorm mates, or most Slytherins for that matter, no matter the politeness of his interactions. He had been a pariah, after all, yet…

Harry had to admit that he didn’t quite know what to say to the other Slytherin, but he couldn’t help but feel grateful. The events from the previous night would have most likely been worse had he not been there to help Harry to the Infirmary. 

The trek to the infirmary with Severus had been hell — Harry could still remember the nausea and haze that had plagued him through it all — and freedom from the migraine that had set in after the hex made the morning seem like the best he had been able to enjoy in ages. 

Only a _Redactum Skullus_ had been needed to counteract the _Engorgio Skullus_ hex that had made his head swell, Madam Pomfrey had preferred to have him remain at the infirmary throughout the night. Something which, though probably unnecessary, Harry had quickly been grateful for if only to make sure that there had been no secondary consequences from the hex Evan Rosier had cast. 

A lack of pain plus a pleasantly dreamless sleep had made the morning seem like the best he had enjoyed in ages. Made better, perhaps, by the strangely dreamless dream he had had the chance to enjoy as well as the fact that he hadn’t seen a sign of the aforementioned third year. 

Once at the Great Hall, Harry had quickly taken to reading whilst having breakfast, though the silence that had settled around him and Severus had been nothing if not friendly and comfortable. When Avery and Mulciber had walked into the Great Hall not too long after Harry’s own arrival, he had been surprised to find the comfort continue even as he didn’t join into their conversation and had instead kept reading. 

Harry breathed in, enjoying the relaxed atmosphere that permeated the Great Hall through the morning despite his frustration at the chapter before him.

Harry drummed his fingers over the page as his insides swirled with frustration and confusion. It was, undeniably, a brilliant guide to learn and research the meaning of any of the symbols one could see whilst gazing into a scrying mirror. It was too advanced, clearly intended for people who already had a grasp of how one could practice the divination technique, and Harry couldn’t help the slight frustration that he felt at the discovery. 

The first book he had found and read on the scrying had ended up being a good introductory guide to the divination technique, but it hadn’t had much more information than that. This one, instead, was too advanced, and he couldn’t quite make full sense of it. Not in a practical or useful way.

He felt overwhelmed, if he was to be honest to himself. 

He had stagnated after only a few chapters of reading and memorizing symbols, particularly as runes had started appearing in relation to enhancing scrying with mirrors or water. He couldn’t help but feel frustrated at his own inability to really understand the divination techniques described. Confused when it came to what the best way to proceed. 

He was a _seer_ — precisely the reason why he had started studying divination techniques before any other person of his year.

He had already read plenty on how useful it had been for specific people in history, but he couldn’t really understand it in the way he had when he had first started learning about fire-omens. The amount of advanced terminology usually meant that when he had first started studying divination at the Potter manor’s library he had advanced really slowly, particularly in his first steps of learning how to read symbols in fire. 

A week of reading since taking the book out had given Harry nothing, however. 

He knew from past experience with fire-omens that a description of the symbol often wasn’t good for learning the art, and that seeing a symbol first through practice made it clearer to understand. But of course, there wasn’t a single description as to how one could create or use a mirror for scrying, let alone water, like he intended. Only brief mentions on how runes and some rituals were required for its making and use. It had become clear that he would have to abandon learning about scrying until he had at least found a better book on it. One not just on symbols, but how to practice it. 

Since the beginning of the term he had progressed through the runes book that he had found at Flourish and Blotts enough to be able to start studying the most basic runes, and vaguely be able to recognize the different runic alphabets. All of his Hogwarts classes, at least for now, were going well. The amount of time he spent at the library ensured that he arrived at the next class with decent work prepared. Only a few spells escaped him, and practice after class usually meant being able to cast them successfully not too long afterwards. 

He hadn’t had a single problem with any of his classes — at least if one didn’t count the dull monotone of professor Binn’s voice and how it affected History of Magic classes. Yet he was stuck. If not completely, to the degree where he wasn’t able to fully use the material in ‘Methods and Symbols in Scrying: A Complete Guide’.

He didn’t want to stagnate, not when learning scrying as a divination technique meant so much. It was something above the divination studies his mother had introduced him to all those years ago. 

It was different, it meant something. 

With scrying he would be able to start investigating things he was interested in. Attempt to learn how to see further than what he saw. Understand things more. 

Harry clenched his fists and let out a shaky breath. Turning away from the tables around him and looking back down at the book he had been attempting to read. Its yellowed pages stared back mockingly as the level of noise at the Great Hall grew exponentially.

He hadn’t been able to fully understand the topic and methods explained in the second chapter — a confusingly titled ‘Linear Congruential Methods of Interpretation of Symbols’. 

Throughout the chapter there more equations than words were laid out— an unequivocal sign the the book was too advanced for Harry at the moment, considering he couldn’t grasp the exact meaning. Let alone how to apply it. He was still within the first twenty pages of the book, struggling to understand the symbols described in references to ancient runes and advanced arithmancy. 

Harry sighed and leaned back onto his chair, running his hand through his hair. He was wasting his time, he knew. He quickly shut the book with a soft ‘ _bam’_ , not seeing a point in attempting to keep reading through it. It was too complicated. Accidentally drawing the attention of a few of the Slytherins who had been talking around him through breakfast. 

“You’ve been trying to read through that book for the last week, haven’t you?” 

Harry turned, slightly surprised, at Avery’s calm voice. The brown-haired Slytherin was observing him curiously, glancing every now and again at the copy of ‘Methods and Symbols in Scrying: A Complete Guide’. Mulciber and Severus turned to look at the book curiously.

“This one?” Harry asked. “I haven’t been able to make much sense of it, honestly” he then continued saying, honestly. He had been reading the book at their dorm room and library over the last days. 

“It’s on scrying, isn’t it?” Avery muttered, eying the book once again. “Are you interested in it? It isn’t really something I’ve heard much about.”

Harry glanced down at the book, and then back at Avery. “I was… curious when I saw it at the library, but it’s too advanced.”

“That’s divination, right?” Mulciber said. “Like cards and tea-leaves?”

Harry nodded, wondering how much he should say, though it was Avery that replied. To a side, Severus remained silent, looking at the three of them with a certain curiosity in his eyes. 

“I think so. It’s only something I ever heard my grandmother talk about — she used to practice it. It’s quite different, apparently,” Avery started saying. His voice was calm and easygoing — amused. “It involves staring into mirrors or water to see things. She apparently used to study it, even had mirrors that she often used.”

Severus frowned, and Mulciber looked inquisitively at Avery. “Mirrors? Is that something one can really believe in?” It didn’t look like it was something he was taking seriously.

Avery smirked, seeming to mirror the sentiment in Mulciber. “It’s supposed to show visions of the future, apparently. Or past. My grandmother in particular wanted to have fates inform her of things that were to happen. ”

Mulciber smiled, “really?” He turned to look at Harry briefly then, and glanced down at the book. “Is it something that works?”

Harry smiled, shrugging. He didn’t want to talk to much about divination, even if he hadn’t been able to learn much from the book. He’d need to find something better to study before being able to understand all of it and he was able to put what he knew into practice. 

“My grandmother certainly thought so, but my father always discredited it. He always says that she was a bit too obsessed with…” Avery said, half-muttering as he glanced up. He seemed to be remembering something. “We still have some of the scrying mirrors she used, I think. I’m not sure what my father did with them, though.”

Harry, Mulciber, and Severus turned to face him as the Slytherin trained off. Avery’s eyes suddenly widened, and he straightened his back suddenly. 

“It’s interesting though, I think my father once mentioned that she had this notebook that she used to note down the things she learnt about it,” he said, voice raising. He sounded curious even as he spoke, and his eyes were bright with wonder. 

Severus glanced at Avery with a frown. He seemed skeptical. “A notebook?” he asked

Avery glanced at the black-haired Slytherin, nodding. “She apparently used it for years.”

Mulciber looked as curious as he did doubtful. “Could she actually see things in mirrors, then?” he asked. “Imagine that — how great would it be to be able to see the future? The things one could do…”

Avery shook his head. “I don’t think so. Father has never said anything about it, anyways. He got rid of it quite a long time ago.”

Harry’s eyes widened, and he couldn’t help smiling, feeling curious. How would a book on Scrying like that be like? “What happened to it?” he asked. 

Avery shrugged. “I think he gave it to one of his close friends, though I’m not sure who to. Maybe Abraxas Malfoy, they were quite good friends at Hogwarts.”

“Is that something that he… that Lord Malfoy would have been interested in?” Mulciber asked, pausing to correct himself. 

“I don’t know. Maybe… I can’t remember what father said about it, though it probably was either him or…” Avery said, pausing suddenly.

“Or?” Mulciber prompted. Harry kept his eyes fixed on Avery. 

Avery turned to look at the teacher’s table, and Harry followed his gaze, silent. Most of the teachers were there, with only a few missing. Amongst them, their Head of House. 

“Remember how my father know professor Riddle during Hogwarts? It could have also been him, apparently he used to be interested in divination — thought it could be something useful,” Avery said. 

Mulciber nodded at that decisively. 

“I can’t blame anyone that is interested — even if my grandmother probably never found a way of making it work. Divination…” Avery said pensively. 

“Honestly? I think your father was probably right, Alden,” Mulciber said. 

“I know, but still Marcus…” Avery muttered. “Imagine having the sight. Being able to _see_. Being able to have the power, the ability, to change things.”

Mulciber remained silent, and Harry looked down. It was a few minutes until Avery spoke again. 

“I imagine that is why professor Riddle was interested in that notebook.”

Mulciber grinned, and Harry found himself looking back at the closed book atop his lap with a frown. He remained silent as the conversation of his dorm mates shifted into something else. He had long since finished the food on his plate, nor was he particularly hungry anymore. 

Harry breathed in, glancing around the Great Hall quickly as the room became increasingly noisier, and run his hand through his hair again. The sounds of the Great Hall seemed to slowly fade away around him, and Harry repositioned his glasses higher up on his nose bridge nervously, before glancing back at his breakfast. Besides him, Severus stared at the closed book briefly, and then glanced up at Harry. 

He had once seen Abraxas Malfoy, Lord Malfoy, confess to his closest friends to having dragon pox. Seen the birth and death of wizards he knew nothing about. Muggles kill each other for unknown reasons, fall into traps and suffer due to each other. _‘Punji sticks’._ Seen other muggles drive monstrous metal machines that ran over everything and anything in their way. Seen and felt and lived through fire and blood and heat that would burn even those underwater. Seen—

He suddenly felt nauseous. Professor Riddle’s words from the previous day had made sense. Deadalus and Icarus… 

His Defence professor was right. 

Harry frowned and took a deep breath. Perhaps it wasn’t his fault if something happened after telling someone, or not telling them. Not when the situation was completely out of his control. How much could he impact things, help people avoid getting hurt, if he knew and could see enough, however?

He couldn’t just sit through his classes knowing that someone might be hurt, or worse. Not when he knew in advance. If he could help in any way…

He was a seer. It was his _duty_. What people _expected_ from him. What his _family_ expected of him. He had to continue studying more, focus more, had to—

“Harry?”

Harry glanced up to look at Avery. He was looking expectantly at him, and besides him, Mulciber was looking at another point of the Slytherin table. 

Had he missed what they were saying?

Harry frowned and looked in the direction Mulciber was looking. His back straightened instinctively and immediately as he saw the familiar shape of a third year Slytherin sitting at their house table. Evan Rosier. 

Mulciber turned back to look at him, face suddenly neutral, and Avery simply stared. Silent moments went by, and Harry’s heartbeat sped up. The calm and comfortable atmosphere he felt disappeared, and he felt the sudden need to get up and leave the Great Hall. Go to class.

“About yesterday…” Avery started saying, stopping suddenly. His eyes were focused on Harry’s own, expression somewhat neutral and masked. A brief glimpse and ghost memory of the painful trek to the Infirmary flashed through Harry’s mind. Harry’s hand went to his head. 

Avery glanced at the third year briefly, quickly turning to look back at Harry. Students kept entering the Great Hall, and the noise within rises together with them. The Slytherin’s eyes were suddenly serious, and for a second Harry didn’t know exactly why Avery was bringing up what had happened at the Slytherin Common Room. 

“The prefects warned Rosier against hexing you again, yesterday night. Professor Riddle called them to his office at night, since you ended up at the infirmary,” Avery said. “He probably already dealt with them, but Rosier will probably attempt to do it again.”

Harry’s eyes widened. 

“Since I gather that most of your family are Gryffindors, and that you’ve never been taken to meet purebloods… Well, careful — Slytherin is not like the other houses.”

Harry stared, nodding his thanks after a few seconds of contemplating his dorm mate’s thoughts. Around him the Great Hall grew louder, and Harry glanced at the Gryffindor table, at his brother, briefly. Eyes glancing over that of the teacher’s on their way there. 

The seat of the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor was no longer empty, and professor Riddle now sat pensively atop the decorated wooden chair. He was dressed in formal dark teaching robes, his posture making him seem nothing if not aristocratic. Body posture calm and composed.

The light breeze that had filled the wide hall continued, together with the gentle autumn heat. The lingering dust particles looked as ablaze as they had when he had first entered the Great Hall, and Harry’s mind was briefly transported to the way the white sheets of the infirmary had almost seemed to glow under the bright morning sunlight.

Harry gazed up at professor Riddle as his Head of House scanned the Great Hall. Their eyes met for a brief second, and Harry quickly looked back down only to turn towards the exit of the Great Hall. He quickly remembered the strange story about the notebook of Avery’s grandmother, and briefly glanced back at the Defence professor. 

Harry got up from the bench and straightened up, muttering a goodbye to his dorm mates. Besides him, Severus glanced at Harry, and followed his action. 

To a side of the room, James stood up from the Gryffindor table, and followed his twin out of the room. Evan Rosier laughed, and Lucius Malfoy entered the room with a group of sixth year students. 

Harry left the Great Hall at a quick pace, still feeling slightly nauseous and only slowing down when Severus caught up with him near the huge doorway that led into the hall. They went down a corridor in silence, and as the crowds of students heading to the Great Hall to have breakfast thinned, Harry started feeling calmer. He stopped once he felt his heart beating slower, and took a deep breath in. 

The feeling of nausea was completely gone, as was the strange vividness that had seemed to set in together with the feeling of overwhelming nervousness. 

Harry heard footsteps behind him, and turned to see James along with a distinctive-looking Sirius Black following behind him. 

“Harry!” James said loudly as he took long strides towards Harry. He was frowning, and Harry could tell by the lines that had formed around his twin’s eyes and mouth that he was both worried and angry. More 

“James,” Harry muttered. 

James looked _furious_. His shoulders seemed strained and taut, making James look tense beneath all the anger. 

His twin had a forceful look about him, though Harry could tell by the way James frowned, by the lines that had formed around his eyes and mouth, that he was worried. More than what was obvious through his twin’s anger — making the reason for his approaching Harry early on in the morning, for seeking him in his way to his first class of the day, barely minutes after having left the Great Hall, obvious. 

Evan Rosier — even though Harry wasn’t entirely sure about how James had heard this quickly about what had happened. Not when he had left the infirmary after resting there over the night. He hadn’t had a chance to tell him yet, though had intended to later during the day. 

James looked at Severus as if wanting to _shoo_ him away from besides Harry, and Harry had to admit that he had no idea how it was possible that his twin had found him on his way to his first morning class. Behind him, though at a slight distance away from Harry, Sirius Black remained still. His eyes altering between James and Harry before falling on Severus, whom he looked at in a similar way as James. 

“If it’s okay, I’d like to talk to my brother alone,” James said, looking at Severus with a certain degree of mistrust. “With no Slytherins around.” 

Severus looked intimidated at James’ forceful look for a few seconds. He didn’t budge away from Harry, however, and James half-discreet glare turned openly hostile. Behind his twin, Sirius Black glowered. 

Snape glanced quickly to Harry before backing slightly away, eyes suddenly fixed on the floor. The atmosphere soured, and Harry found himself clenching his fists for the first time at the way James looked at Severus. 

Regardless. Severus didn’t deserve his brother’s glare. Not when he had been the only person in the Slytherin common room to help him get back up. Not after Avery, minutes before, had warned him of—

Harry found himself speaking before managing to stop and process his words. His heart was still beating rapidly, and though the nausea he had suddenly felt had already disappeared, Harry couldn’t help but still feel slightly unbalanced from the conversation at the Great hall. From having seen Evan Rosier. 

“It’s okay, James, Severus helped me get to the infirmary after Rosier hexed me. Yesterday would have been much worse had he not been there.”  

His words sounded oddly calm, though Harry didn’t manage to avoid having them sounded slightly strained. Not after the fight they had had outside of Dumbledore’s office yesterday, or after Severus having been the one to have helped Harry get to the infirmary the previous night. 

James was worried, and Harry knew James didn’t like his dorm mates. The conversation from weeks back on dark families was still present in his mind. James’ worry and concern at the dark things some of his dorm mate’s parents apparently got into, and at how Harry could come adversely affected from it. Manipulated because of it. 

His dorm mates weren’t untrustworthy just because of their parents or their house placement, like James had suggested. Harry could only judge them based on their actions. Whatever the actions of most of his housemates were showed and proved nothing about Severus, o the others. 

 _‘Slytherins take care of their own’_ , those had been the words of professor Riddle the previous day, and Harry didn’t quite know what to make of it despite his gratitude. He had been a pariah in some manners throughout the first weeks. Always had been, all things considered, and yet his dorm mates, Avery, had shown enough care to—

James sighed, and nodded. His posture seemed to relax slightly, and the way he looked at Severus changed. Gentled. 

He didn’t look happy at Harry’s words, though his gaze softened slightly. He nodded and looked away from Severus, deflating, and glanced at Harry briefly before looking back at the black-haired Slytherin.

James frowned, and looked back at Harry after a few seconds as if wanting to ask about the specifics. 

Harry nodded and looked at his dorm mate. He still didn’t feel like he had thanked him enough. Severus remained still to one of Harry’s sides, silently observing both twins carefully. Sirius remained oddly still, observing the scene before him with both weary and worried eyes. 

“Ah,” James said, voice now mellower. James still looked angry, but he didn’t seem as furious as when he had caught up with Harry. 

He looked around him, bashful, and rubbed at the back of his neck. James looked at Snape, eyes looking slightly apologetic, and then back at Harry once more. His posture changed slightly, and the anger his twin had been feeling seemed to disappear complete as Harry looked into his eyes.

Harry sighed, and Severus looked back at him. He nodded. “I’ll see you at History of Magic, then.” His tone was earnest, and Harry found himself surprised once more. Grateful for Snape’ — Severus’ — actions.

Harry smiled, “I won’t take long”.

Snape nodded, and started making his way down the hallway. James looked from Harry to Snape, and then back at Sirius. 

The Black heir nodded and offered a grin. “I’ll go check up on Peter again, then.”

James grinned back at his friend, irradiating a feeling of easy and confident trust. Harry found himself wondering at the closeness between them despite the brief interaction. 

“I’ll see you at Herbology, Sirius.”

The other Gryffindor had just started walking way when James looked back at him, and Harry felt himself suddenly tense up. His twin stared for a few seconds as the lines of worry in his face deepened, and the corners of his mouth twisted into a frown. 

“I was worried, Harry. So worried. I heard about it this morning, and—” he said, rushing through his words and pausing to gather his breath. 

Worry was written all over him once again. “Just what happened, Harry?”

Harry frowned, and looked around himself nervously. He readjusted his glasses and looked down at the floor, suddenly feeling self-conscious. The day before…

“I was at the Slytherin common room with Herbology when Rosier… well. You know,” Harry started saying.

James clenched his fists. “Just how _could_ he? You hadn’t done anything! If he touches you again, I’ll—!”

James clenched his fists. “He hexed you, Harry! That—!” he shouted. 

Harry looked up at his twin and offered a small smile, frown deepening. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but quickly went silent. He felt grateful, safe in his brother’s anger, though… 

Harry had to admit he felt uncertain. He wasn’t sure what the best course of action would be, and Avery’s warning in the Great Hall had left him not quite knowing what to think. He could imagine that Evan Rosier would likely attempt a similar thing again, but…

“If he dares to touch you again I’ll make sure he pays, Harry. You’re my brother! I can’t just allow someone to treat you like that,” James continued. Stopping only after finally coming to notice Harry’s sad smile. 

Harry glanced around him. The hallway was mostly deserted with the few students that were walking through it weren’t paying them any attention. 

He felt uncertain. He always felt safe around his twin, and he knew that with James he’d likely be able to avoid Rosier completely, but what about the times when he wasn’t?

What would happen if Harry was defended by Gryffindors, yet was unable to do so himself? It was the first term of first year, and Rosier was in his third. He had been hexed once, but what if…? Slytherin had so far seemed… different. Avery had just said as much. 

“I’m not sure, James. Would that be a good idea?” Harry muttered, still looking down. He knew his brother would defend him, but would it truly be a good idea to allow him to, considering how the reactions could be? 

James stared at Harry, dumbfounded. “What? Harry, you can’t just tell me to do nothing about it!”

Harry swallowed saliva. “That’s not what I mean, James. I—, well, you’re in Gryffindor and Rosier…”

“Why should that matter, Harry?” James quickly replied. His worried look had deepened, and Harry suddenly knew that he hadn’t managed to convey his worries to his twin. 

Harry looked briefly at James. His shoulders were still as tense as they were when he had entered. He wondered if Severus and Avery understood. Whether having James help him directly would be preferable to attempting to do something by himself, or telling his Head of House.

What would be the best way of stopping Rosier?

Harry frowned, his mind immediately going back to the words of his Head of House. Slytherins took care of their own, and if he ever needed any help, he could always… This wasn’t about a dream, after all, and he was almost certain that Madam Pomfrey had already told his Head of House about his being at the infirmary.

“Harry?” James asked after a few seconds of silence. 

“I think it’ll be something I’ll have to handle by myself, James. This isn’t like one of… you know,” Harry started saying. “If Gryffindors get involved more Slytherins probably would as well. Rosier would just go after me in hallways and at the Common Room.”

James stared. Around them, the breeze continued to blow through the infirmary. The sun had risen up further, showing the proximity of the morning classes. 

“I’ll try to handle him by myself. It’s something I’ll have to do, if I want it to get better.”

“I can’t leave you alone in this, Harry. If I ever see him even touch you—” James started saying. 

“I can’t risk it getting worse and continue, James. I know you’re worried, but if I let this continue and it gets out of hand…”

“Harry!” James nearly shouted. Some of the students walking down the hallway glanced at him. 

Harry frowned and looked down at the floor. He clenched his fists, swallowed saliva again, and looked back at his twin. He smiled. “Rosier… Let me try to deal with him, James.”

James half-glared at him, and seemed to be a bout to reply and add something else when he suddenly fell silent. He looked back at Harry with determination. 

“If you’re sure, Harry. But I’m here if you need me,” he started saying. Voice calmer. “If I see him even attempt to touch you in the hallway there’s no way you’re stopping me from helping though.”

Harry smiled, “thank you.”

“But don’t let this go on, Harry. I— you’re my twin, you know? I know we fought yesterday, but…”

Harry nodded. “I know, James,” he said, voice mellowing. 

James seemed about to add something when he seemed to stop right in his tracks. Instead turning to stare at a point behind Harry. 

Harry turned, immediately being met with a fast-approaching Lily. Red hair flowing behind her as she walked at a fast pace, worried expression showing on all her features even as she smiled in a gentle and polite way at Harry. James fully turned to face her, suddenly distracted by his fellow Gryffindor, and Harry couldn’t help but smile at the Gryffindor he had ended up studying with occasionally at the library. 

It was only a few hours later, after Harry had finally arrived at his History of Magic class and he was already in his first class for the day, that he realized that he had forgotten to talk about what he had overheard Lucius talk about with James. 

Professor Binn’s lectured on, topic unspecified and nearly unknown, and the other students around Harry — Slytherins and Ravenclaws — quickly turned to focus on anything else. With one or two falling asleep whilst others turned to study or work on anything else. It was hard to keep his mind from wandering away as professor Binn’s monotone voice rambled on about _something_ , making it difficult to even focus on studying something else. He quickly found himself going back to think about Evan Rosier and about—

Harry clenched his fists, and looked back down at his textbook. He’d have to study on his own if he wanted to even hope to pass.

 

* * *

 

_When Harry grew conscious that night once again during a dream, he found himself briefly at the remote jungle-like area he had sometimes dreamt of. A thick and heavy humid smell permeated the area, mixing with that of smoke and fire and blood. The loud noise of muggle flying metal machines filled the air, and the shadows of the strange unwizardly machines covered the ground as strange whistle-like noises filled the air._

_Looking around himself, Harry saw himself at a wide dirt path in an open area with rice-fields to both of its sides. Though a village stood atop a small hill in the distance there were nearly no people out in the open, with the few close by running away in panicked silence._

_Harry stared around himself in half-shock, not quite daring to walk from where he stood. The whistling sounds became louder and burst into flames together with a blast-like noise. In the rice fields, a few muggles clad in green rose suddenly, holding tightly things made of dark metal. Distant screams filled the area, and the people running away suddenly ran all the faster. Harry closed his eyes, suddenly fighting back tears, and—_

_Bright light shone all around him, and a now-familiar white station appeared around him, morphing itself into existence from the fire and thick-like humidity that coated the rice-fields that had been previously surrounding Harry as he blinked. The smoke and thick humid smell disappeared, giving way to an odd blankness that seemed as white and bright as his surroundings._

_He was back at the white train station._

_It was chilly, and Harry rubbed at his arms as he observed the area around him. Distinctive shapes of trains pushed forwards on both his sides, strangely silent despite the speed at which they accelerated. There were once again distant figures and shadows within the light fog that surrounded the area, all walking silently towards the edges of the platforms and crowding in front of the spots where the trains were to stop._

_There was a strange eeriness in the atmosphere, and though seeing the strange shadow-like figures had shocked him the first time Harry had seen them, he couldn’t honestly say he was too shocked this time._

_He was dreaming, he knew, and he was certain of what likely was to follow despite the strange white light that irradiated from the station. Even if he didn’t know what this place was or represented, or why he always saw what he saw when he arrived here._

_Turning around him once again, Harry found a lonely figure coming forwards towards him with a strangely uniform movement that could only be described as something similar to steps._

_A chill ran down Harry’s spine regardless of his having been here in dreams already. He grasped at his arm tighter, unnerved by the unknown being. The thing, the shadow-like figure, was silent. Seemingly staring at Harry with its featureless face, as it advanced purposely._

_It stopped at a closer distance than any of the strange beings had before, and stared, stared, with its blank and featureless complexion. Stared through its white and colourless and impossible eyes. Harry gulped loudly, his remaining questions and curiosity about whatever this place could be dying down and disappearing. The being reached out towards him with both its arms, and once they touched Harry—_

_Harry blinked, finding himself suddenly in the same damaged and dreary-looking building he had dreamt of just a week back._

_He was once again in a hallway with a large number of children roaming around, each wearing the same outdated clothing he remembered. Cracked paint crowned and decorated every wall, with some corners looking damp and stained with humidity. The same air of gray dampness hang around the air, making the outdated styling of the clothing and furniture in the hallway seem all the more older._

_Harry looked around him, recognizing the scene again for what it was. He was seeing the past, once again, then. Seeing the strange unknown 30s or 40s orphanage._

_This time, however, Harry was in front of the same room he remembered seeing in his last dream. Within it, the same dark-haired boy surrounded by the familiarly bland and decrepit room. He was facing at Harry this time, his features oddly familiar. No snake was coiled around his arm._

_He looked older than last time, somewhere closer to ten or eleven as well as more secure and confident. His shoulders were tense, however, and hard lines that indicated both fear and determination had settled around his eyes. Despite the apparent growth, however, he looked as thin as usual. Giving a impression due to the sightly-oversized second hand clothes he was wearing._

_To a side of the room, then, staring intently at the boy was the familiar figure of the Hogwarts’ Headmaster — professor Dumbledore. He was clad in long and brightly coloured wizarding robes with a pattern that Harry couldn’t quite place, though his face had an expression more serious than any Harry had ever seen._

_The unknown dark-haired boy was staring back with just as much intensity. His expression controlled and masked to enough a degree that Harry couldn’t read the emotions concealed within._

_“You’re the doctor, aren’t you?” the dark-haired boy suddenly said. His voice sounded old and shadow-like. Like that of a recorded song eroded by time._

_“No. I’m a professor,” Professor Dumbledore said as his expression seemed to change to one somewhat close to concern or surprise. His voice sounded as eroded as that of the dark-haired boy, though close to the one Harry remembered from the headmaster._

_The dark-haired boy stared, “I don’t believe you. She wants me looked at. They think I’m… different.” A pang of emotion flashed through his eyes as he spoke._

_“Well, perhaps they’re right.”_

_The boy frowned. “I’m not mad,” he said, suddenly clenching his fists._

_“Hogwarts is not a place for mad people. Hogwarts is a school. A school of—”_

_The room suddenly collapsed into shadows, and Harry blinked in surprise as his surroundings morphed back into the familiar white train station. The same trains from before were accelerating in the distance, and the same figures crowded at the edges of the platforms. The being that had reached out towards Harry was no longer near Harry, and instead seemed to be observing him at a distance. Face blank and expressionless as it still stared. Eyes white and dull and lifeless._

_Harry turned around to look around and gasped. “Merlin.” There was another one, another strange being identical to the other that had first approached Harry at point where there previously had been none._

_Just as the previous one had done, it moved towards him and reached out. Its hands touched Harry’s left shoulder and—_

_Harry suddenly found himself in an unknown room. There was no grey, however, unlike the one before, and Harry instinctively knew that unlike with the orphanage he had just been shown, he wasn’t seeing the any more past._

_Tall windows stood at two of its sides, allowing pale moonlight to illuminate the otherwise dark room. It was sparsely decorated, looking almost empty, and Harry could just barely make out a few cobwebs hanging from the walls and furniture. The air smelled of dust, as though the place hadn’t been cleaned in too long or had just been reentered after a long period of abandonment._

_He couldn’t place or recognise any of his surroundings, not even the moon-illuminated landscape beyond the windows._

_Two figures stood at the centre of the room, and Harry’s eyes were immediately drawn to them. One was wearing a heavy-looking black robe and stood tall and proud at the centre of the room. His entire head was covered by a similarly heavy-looking hood, allowing absolutely no part of the unknown man’s face to be seen, and no feature to be distinguished. His posture seemed to convey an aristocratic sort of grace that exerted nothing but a feeling of control._

_In front of him was a familiar-looking figure, kneeling whilst clad in somewhat similar dark robes. Face hidden behind a white mask, yet looking both scared and awed with his head bowed in a familiar pureblood show of submission._

_“I will do as you say, my Lord,” Harry heard the kneeling person say. His voice was low and calm, controlled in the graceful way that purebloods often seemed to take pride in carrying themselves in._

_One of his forearms, the left one, was facing upwards and towards the unknown man, who seemed pleased at his words. There was something tattooed on the left forearm, Harry realized. A picture in greys that Harry didn’t quite manage to distinguish in the dim moonlight that filled the room._

_The unknown man drew his wand and muttered something Harry didn’t quite recognize whilst placing it atop the mark._

_A flash of light suddenly illuminated the entire room, and the space, the two figures, and everything around them collapsed into shadows and smoke that swiftly started changing and shifting back into the familiar form of the bright train station._

_Before Harry could look around, he felt the same figure reach out towards him with his other arm as it stared straight at him, and the train station disappeared again._

_Harry suddenly found himself at a wide meeting room. It was bright, with sharp and clear-cut light illuminating all of the things within it, and Harry found himself relaxing at the more familiar-looking room at atmosphere in the dream. Not the past, but the future. Something yet to come and happen._

_It was daytime, wherever the meeting room was. The midday sun could be seen through the open windows_

_The room was filled with a group of seven people, most of which Harry couldn’t recognize. Two of the seven, however, were immediately familiar. Having seen both in the attack of Stebbins’ father. One was the burly man who had started the attack. The other, Bones, if Harry remembered correctly, had been the person who had attempted to avoid violence breaking out._

_At the centre of the meeting table, point to which most of the unknown people in the room seemed to be staring at, sat a bag with a crest on one of its sides._

_Harry’s eyes widened, and he felt his heart skip a beat._

_The bag that Stebbins’ father had been carrying before his attack and death. It looked just like it had the last time Harry had seen it in a dream and just as heavy, if only a slightly more worn out and scratched. It looked heavy, as if still carrying the thing that his dorm mate’s father had been so scared to give away._

_He frowned immediately afterwards, suddenly understanding not where he was in, but what he was witnessing._

_“Bones, this was the bag you retrieved, wasn’t it?” a tall red-haired man asked. He was one of the people closest to the table._

_Bones, who was wearing the same uniform he had worn when Harry had first seen him, turned towards the red haired man. “You know it is, Gideon.”_

_The man, Gideon, remained silent, and simply observed the bag with curiosity. “The contents in the bag have gone untouched, haven’t they?” he asked._

_“No one has touched them since, Prewett. It’s sat at a safe location since we got it.” the burly man started saying. His eyes narrowed and his posture turned defensive. He seemed to be offended. “If you think we so much as touched it—“_

_“Calm down, Fenwick. You know what I meant,” Prewett said. “I meant no offense. It was just a question needed to make sure that all was in order. A few weeks since its… acquisition already went by._

_Bones turned to look at Gideon Prewett and took a few steps forwards. “We didn’t touch it, as per orders,” he said._

_Gideon Prewett nodded, and the burly man, Fenwick, seemed to relax. The other people in the room remained silent, observing the man._

_“Should we open it? See what is inside?” one of the people at the back of the room, a middle-aged woman asked._

_Prewett shook his head. “No, you know what the orders were,” he started saying._

_“Aren’t you curious about what it contains?” the woman continued saying with a leveled and even voice._

_Prewett glanced at her. “It is imperative to get it destroyed,” he replied tersely._

_The woman frowned and glanced at the crested bag briefly. She was curious, Harry could tell, and it didn’t seem like the the order affected her curiosity much at all. She turned to look at Bones. “Edgar, you said that that man, Stebbins, was terrified. Refused to cooperate, right?”_

_Bones frowned, and looked down. “He… refused to, yes” he started saying, voice sounding guilty. “He was terrified from the moment we appeared. Feared that that man would harm his family if he handed the bag to us and betrayed him.”_

_The woman smiled. “Exactly. I think we should still see what is inside the bag, then. If he was that scared and he refused to cooperate like that it ought to have been something important. Something valuable.”_

_“No. We have to follow the orders we were given. No matter how tempting, we must hand it over,” another man, older than the rest judging by his grey hair, suddenly replied. “It is a shame that we weren’t able to keep Stebbins’ unharmed, or that he didn’t give any information, but we must give this to—”_

_The woman clicked her tongue with distaste. “What will we learn that way though! We have the bag, but…!” she exclaimed. “We barely have any information as it is. Things are delicate enough as they are.”_

_The atmosphere suddenly turned tense as some of the people in the room voiced their agreement, though a majority seemed to remain silent instead. Alterning between glancing at the woman and Bones._

_“We barely have any information, and from your report… It is a shame we couldn’t get Stebbins to come and talk,” another man said._

_Bones glanced at him briefly. “He was never supposed to be attacked or die,” he replied quickly, voice tense and strained._

_“He was working for…! The information he could have given us…” the man shouted. “If Fenwick hadn’t attacked him we could have—”_

_Fenwick turned, enraged. “Merlin’s sake—!”_

_Harry could only observe as the argument escalated and the meeting room started to be filled with rising voices. Bones attempted to speak again, though failed to gain attention._

_The bag sat alone atop the meeting table as the voices rose, the crest on its side looking worn. Harry got closer, though only managed to glimpse a closed wooden box inside the bag. It looked dark and old — expensive. It had no distinguishing features and nothing that hinted at what might be inside._

_Gideon Prewett suddenly moved forwards, in a clear attempt to physically dissuade the argument. “The contents of the bag, whatever is inside it, must go to the Order of the Phoenix. You know that!” he shouted. “I’m as worried as all of you, but we must do what is right.”_

_The room started collapsing into shadows as the voices of the people who argued grew. The sharpness and definition of the things around Harry started to fade, and—_

* * *

 

Harry awoke suddenly, and sat up, gasping for breath and feeling his head pound. He looked around dazedly, examining the familiar greens and silvers of his dorm room whilst trying to make sense of his dream. It was fully dark now, night time, with only a faint and pale blue light shining from outside the window, through the black lake.

Harry shut his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair. The memory of the dreams, the things he had seen were still vivid, and—

Harry stood up suddenly, abruptly opening the curtains surrounding his bed, and rushed towards his trunk, rummaging through it as soon as he opened it until he finally found a very certain notebook. Picking up his quill and some ink, he walked back over to his bed.

He could still remember all of the details in the things he had seen. The muggles he had seen running away near the rice-fields during that strange attack, the cracked walls of the old orphanage and strange look of the dark-haired boy, Lucius Malfoy kneeling, and—

“Harry?”

Harry glanced up, turning towards the sudden voice. His eyes widened as he saw Mulciber sitting on his bed, opening the curtains that had been surrounding it. He was looking at Harry with a somewhat pensive look, seeming to be deep in thought. 

Harry smiled apologetically and closed his notebook. “I’m sorry if I woke up up, Marcus. I just—, well,” he started saying. 

Mulciber frowned, and observed in silence as Harry placed the notebook atop the covers of his bed. “I had a nightmare, sorry if I woke you up.”

Mulciber shook his head, “don’t worry about it. I could imagine it would be as much, you were talking in your sleep.”

Harry stared at the other boy in silence. “I think it’ll be better if I go too sleep, it’s already late enough, and…”

Mulciber stared in silence as Harry moved to place his quill and the bottle of ink he had grabbed on his trunk again, saying nothing even as Harry sat back on his bed, closed the curtains, and lied down.

The dorm room remained silent for a few long moments even afterwards, though Harry remained wide awake. The words and scenes from his dream replayed themselves in his mind and—

He turned, uncomfortable, and feeling the sudden need to open a book, any book, to distract himself. To grab his tarot card deck and practice reading, or walk to the common room and stare into the fires at the chimneys. 

Whatever was in the box had been important. More so, its contents, as it turned out, were to then be taken care of by the Order of the Phoenix, and just what _was_ it?

Harry shifted and turned in his bed again, swallowing saliva. He didn’t know what to think about that. He frowned. Should he tell James about what he had just seen, and talk about the political motives that Lucius had heard Lucius speak of?  He’d have the perfect chance after potions and…

_“I know you’re worried, Harry. You hate seeing people suffer, I know you do. But… This is for your own good, you know? Your dreams… We really can’t do anything about it. Just trust Dumbledore and—”_

Harry turned, remembering James’ words from a day back. 

No, he couldn’t, not when he had seen three unrelated things where nothing _really_ happened to people. Not when everything had been made clear. Things were as they were right now, and if nothing had happened to people…

All he knew was that whatever was in that box was important and that the attack behind Stebbins had been politically motivated. Connected to the Knights of Walpurgis, whatever they were, in some way, as well as to whatever laid within the bag and the box inside it. 

Shadows danced in Harry’s mind as the faint light coming from the lake water outside the dorm room’s window barely illuminated the things within. The shadow of Stebbins’ scared father, clutching the strange bag stronger than Harry remembered seeing in his dream, danced through his bed. Words reverberated in his mind — _‘You know I can’t do that, he—, he will…’_

No, he couldn’t tell James. Not yet. 

If he were to tell him now, he would only receive the same replies he had so far during the term. Right now everything he had seen was at the same level as his dreams relating to muggles. Though the details surrounding the death of his dorm mate’s father were strange they were just that — details. 

Harry turned once more and and suddenly tensed. He stared wide-eyed at a side of the green and silver curtains around his bed. 

 _‘Undeniably political all the same, Thorfinn, and you know precisely why,’_ that was what Lucius Malfoy had said yesterday. And Thorfinn Rowle had seemed to _get_ what he meant.  

Harry turned once again, shifting in his bed. 

Just what _was_ in that box?

It was curious, really. Strange, just like Thorfinn Rowle had been telling Malfoy at the Common Room. Something almost distracting enough to make him forget anything else, even  what had taken place with Rosier. 

Stebbins’ father had been deeply involved with the Knights of Walpurgis, whatever they were. His attack had never been reported — just a few students at school had heard about it. 

He had been carrying a bag that his attackers had wanted. One with a crest that had made it seem important. The man had been terrified to the same degree that the others had been interested in getting access to what had been in the bag. 

That not even Lucius Malfoy, one of the few students that had heard about the attack, had known about this spoke volumes, and he hadn’t been able to notice the significance of that until now. Whatever had been in that box had been the cause of the attack, as well as why Stebbins’ father had refused…

Harry’s heart sped up even as he frowned, and he felt himself sweat slightly. 

There was more to this all than he could even hope to understand. 

He didn’t know nearly enough about politics, if barely anything at all. It probably was something he shouldn’t be concerned about, something that his parents and Dumbledore already were aware of. It was James who was his father’s heir, after all, and Harry’s own position was quite different. He was different, gifted. He was a seer, and Harry knew his parents were most likely right to caution him. 

Which, however, didn’t mean he wasn’t curious.

Just what were the Knights of Walpurgis? What made them so important?

The way Malfoy and Rowle had mentioned them had seemed important, and he swore someone had mentioned them during the welcoming feast, even if he couldn’t remember in what context.

Harry smiled absentmindedly. How could he learn about what they were? He had only heard Malfoy and Avery, if he remembered correctly, talking about them, but he wasn’t sure how to even approach Malfoy. James most likely wouldn’t know anything more than him, and Dumbledore was mostly inaccessible for him.

Harry shifted again in bed and turned. His feet were starting to get tangled in the covers, and lying down was quickly becoming uncomfortable. His mind was racing, and he felt too awake to be able to fall sleep. 

Perhaps…

“No matter,” he muttered.

Harry shifted once again before sitting back up. The covers twisted some more at the action, tangling some more. He was too awake, and his heart was beating too erratically. He wouldn’t be able to fall asleep. At least not for some time. He stood up and walked towards his trunk yet again, opening it as stealthily as he could so as to not awaken any of his dorm mates. 

There it was. 

Harry smiled, and reached for a familiar deck of cards hidden away at the very back of his school trunk, inside a small black leather bag. He returned to his bed, drawing the curtains shut once more. He opened the bag as soon as he was sitting with legs crossed, and took the familiar deck from the innocuous black bag. 

Harry closed his eyes. 

Though the cards were slightly worn due to age — they hadn’t been exactly new when his mother had gifted them to him, having apparently been gathering dust inside the Potter manor for years — their texture was relaxing in a way few things really managed to be. It was smooth and soft, with all of the edges pleasantly worn down. The pictures drawn atop the cards remained vivid, however, unaffected by the years of abandon. 

Harry shuffled the cards. He wasn’t proficient at reading the cards  above a basic or intermediate level, not when compared to reading fire-omens or practicing pyromancy. He knew how to interpret the signs for most basic of things, however. How to read and see basic hints at the future, see the possibilities. 

A hint at future possibilities would be more than enough for now. His dreams didn’t seem truly pressing or urgent, not enough to warrant going to the common room and attempt to read fire-omens and practice pyromancy in any of its forms.

After a few seconds, Harry started placing six cards face-down and atop his slightly twisted covers, placing them in a three by two pattern, and set the deck back down to his side. 

Harry breathed, taking a moment to observe the six unknown cards. He felt slightly more relaxed after shuffling and dealing the cards. Comfortable at the familiarity of the action. He closed his eyes briefly. Questions bubbled in his mind, though most irrelevant and unanswerable through cards.

What should he do, if anything? Should he tell James?

He reached out and turned a card, faltering slight, and opened his eyes again when its front was facing him again. Harry stared.

Oh. 

Harry sighed, and various implications of the particular combination of cards quickly flashed through his mind. An idea for course of action to follow quickly presented itself. 

He’d make sure to write a letter to his parents and make a similar one for his uncle Charlus and aunt Dorea. They would know something about the strange groups, most likely. They would be able to help. If anyone could tell him, that’d be family.

Harry gathered the cards and placed them gently back within the black leather bag. Leaning back down as soon as he had tucked them inside it. 

He’d send the letters by the end of tomorrow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for all the support and encouragement! The next chapter should be up again in a few days.


	9. Chapter 9

Stebbins returned to Hogwarts the very same day the sign-up sheets for the Defence Club were announced by Professor Riddle. Autumn had already fully set in by that point — an odd one, particularly cold despite the time of the year.

No light flowed into the Great Hall from the tall windows at one of its sides — the sun had set before dinner had even started and classes had ended. The light of the candles and lamps hanging from the charmed night-time ceiling alongside filled the room with an orange and yellow light. Decorated pumpkins and other objects hung besides them. It was almost Halloween, and excitement for the nearing Halloween feast could be felt in the air.

The atmosphere in the large hall was loud, with Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs filling the surroundings with laughter and loud voices. When Harry’s dorm mate entered none of the voices in the hall, filled up to the bring with students, had quieted down. Only a few students noticed his entry at all, let alone the subdued and tense manner with which he walked. 

Stebbins had entered the Great Hall in a subdued manner, face pale and eyes downcast as he made his way into the Great Hall accompanied by the Slytherin Head of House. His eyes looked downcast and his expression was grim, with the mouth twisted into a half-frown half something that, together with the empty way with which he seemed to be observing his surroundings, made his emotional state clear. 

Professor Riddle wore an expression of pure professionalism as he stopped in the middle of the hall, and kneeled in front of the student. Harry, who up until then hadn’t noticed the entry of his dorm mate, much like the rest of the other first years in his house, looked up and kept his eyes glued on Stebbins as he talked to their Head of House. Besides him, after a few seconds Severus, Avery, and Mulciber followed his gaze. The latter two quieted down, conversation about quidditch forgotten.

His posture was controlled and relaxed as he started talking to the young Slytherin — he looked concerned. Stebbins nodded, grimace still there. Professor Riddle seemed to say something else, though it was impossible to tell what it could have been over the loud noise filling the Great Hall. Stebbins nodded back, this time slower, and smiled in a way that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Professor Riddle’s expression changed, showing a more obvious concerned. 

Stebbins looked down at the floor and muttered something before he started walking again. He turned around the Ravenclaw table, walking towards the seat he had occupied before leaving Hogwarts for his father’s funeral, and the Slytherin Head of House stood up and walked towards the teacher’s table.

Harry was silent as Stebbins sat down on the table, not quite daring to close or keep reading the Defence book open on his lap, nor knowing what to say. His heart started beating faster, and Harry felt himself sweat. Both Severus and Mulciber seemed to be in a similar situation, and it was only after a few seconds that Avery finally spoke up. 

The brown-haired boy smiled as warmly as he could. It was obvious that he was really feeling a certain nervousness. “Stebbins, it’s good to have you back,” Avery said.

Stebbins looked up at him for a few seconds, not saying anything. He seemed different from how Harry remembered him, haunted. An uncomfortable silence settled around them, and a few second and third year Slytherins turned to observe them. 

“I know I already said it when… you know… but if you need help with anything me and my family would be more than happy to—” Avery continued. Besides him, Mulciber nodded.

“I know, thank you.” Stebbins looked back down. “Your father expressed as much as well to my mother and I at the funeral,” he muttered. 

“Or of mine, Stebbins. Anything. What happened was horrible, I still can’t believe it,” Mulciber added.

Harry gulped and looked at his dorm mate. His heart started beating faster as Stebbins looked back up and smiled gratefully, though the corners of his lips remained twisted downwards. He suddenly looked all the more sullen than before. Haunted.

Harry felt his stomach turn, feeling guilt despite knowing better. The memory of the dream was still fresh even now. He should offer his help and condolences as well, particularly as he hadn’t before. It was the only thing he could really do, and— 

Harry moved his arms so they were at his side, gulped again, and turned his body towards Stebbins. “Stebbins, if you need anything—”

Stebbins’ turned to look at him and Harry froze, suddenly unable to continue. “I know, thank you, Harry,” the boy said quietly. “I’d rather not talk about it though.”

Harry nodded dumbly. “Of course, sorry. If you want any notes or anything though…” 

Stebbins nodded his tanks, but kept looking at Harry. The glance turned into an uncomfortable stare, and the group descended into an uncomfortable silence. Harry frowned, unable to tell what the other boy might be thinking or feeling, and turned to face his food as the rest of his dorm mates did the same. 

They only looked back up when the sound of polished shoes clicked rhythmically on the stone floor in front of the teacher’s table and the Great Hall quieted down in anticipation of whatever professor Riddle was to announce.

Stebbins remained silent as the Great Hall broke into excited whispers. To a side, Slytherins broke into talk about the extracurricular activity their Head of House managed. Professor Riddle _was_ known as one of the best Defence teachers Hogwarts had seen in a long time, and his classes more than proved it.

Harry found himself smiling despite himself at the announcement of the sign-up sheets for the Defence Club.

“At last!” Mulciber exclaimed. “It’s a shame we still can’t attend the dueling club, but at least we can sign up for the Defence club.”

Avery turned to face his friend. “At least we’ll be able to participate next year,” he smiled. “From the stories I’ve heard from my father, professor Riddle really was a prodigy in defence. Both activities apparently are brilliant.”

A clock on the wall started chiming seven when, silhouetted against the charmed night sky and growing larger every moment, a large eagle-owl flew into the Great Hall and started flapping in Harry’s direction. The attention of the students surrounding Harry was caught when a letter was dropped on Harry’s lap. It was a familiar-looking envelope in thick and high quality yellow-white paper. The Potter crest had been stamped into the red wax used to seal the letter.

Harry reached for it and read the details of the sender. It was from his great aunt and uncle, Dorea and Charlus. His discomfort at being around Stebbins nearly fully melted away at the feeling and familiar texture of the envelope’s material. 

His dorm mates looked at it and then back at Harry. Severus observed it silently.

“A letter. From family, I take?” Mulciber asked.

“It is the one you were waiting for, isn’t it?” Severus asked.

Harry nodded, and placed the white envelope in his pocket. He’d read it later, away from prying eyes. “It is,” he said. “Dorea and Charlus can always help me with anything.” They were traveling at the moment, or so he had heard from his parents. The delay in receiving a response had been normal.

This seemed to give Avery pause for thought. “Dorea… she sounds familiar,” he muttered. “Dorea Potter, née Black?”

Harry nodded.

“I didn’t know you were related to her, or that she married a Potter. She’s a distant cousin, I believe.” Avery continued.

“She’s my great-aunt. Married my great-uncle Charlus, the brother of my grandfather, Henry Potter.”

Avery nodded with realization this time, and Harry didn’t quite manage to contain a frown. 

He sighed. He missed his grandfather, dearly. More than anything, even though thinking to how things used to be seemed surreal. He knew what most other Slytherins thought of him though, and Evan Rosier had made sure he knew it since the start of term. Henry Potter — a blood traitor, much like his own father, Fleamont.

Avery turned back towards Mulciber, and Harry reached for the envelope in his pocket. He smiled and finally made a move to close the forgotten defence book on his lap. He likely wouldn’t be concentrating on it anytime soon, even if finishing the essay they had been set by professor Riddle was something he’d rather do tonight. He’d go to the library and take some books out necessary for the essay, anything he could find. He’d then return to the dorm room, read the letter, and work on the essay.

Harry smiled, forcing himself to relax himself, and grabbed the spine of the book.

Harry looked at his empty-looking dinner plate and abruptly got up. It was empty, and he had had more than enough dinner for the night. Avery turned towards him, along with Mulciber. Severus looked at him questioningly. Stebbins didn’t glance up at him. 

“I’ll be going to the library before heading back to the dorm — there are a few books for Defence that I want to take” Harry said.

His dorm mates nodded, and Harry started making his way out of the Great Hall at a quick pace. He held the Defence book close to his chest, the tight grip he held it with being the only sign of the inner nervousness he felt. He had awaited the response of his great aunt and uncle for days, and now that it had finally arrived he couldn’t help but feel slightly nervous, even amidst all of his curiosity. 

The hallways outside of the Great Hall were mostly empty, and only a few students could be seen walking through them at all. Warm yellows and reds lit the hallways, shining bright light into the stone floors and illuminating the rare paintings that decorated the relatively bare walls of the castle. As Harry advanced, some of their occupants gave him distracted and bored looks, whilst others didn’t focus or notice him at all.

Soon the few students he had seen walking around near the area surrounding the Great Hall all but disappeared, and as Harry ascended through one of the turning staircases the loud voices of the students within all but disappeared. Substituted by the rare sound of students as they walked past in small groups and his own rhythmic steps. 

Harry found himself stopping his quick walking pace once he had finished walking one of the turning staircases. An open window to his left let in a soft wind from the outside, and Harry felt himself becoming more awake as goosebumps rose through his arms. The sky was overcast, barely allowing the moon to be seen at all. 

He’d get one or two books related to the essay they had been set and return to his dorm, and then—

Harry took a deep breath in, and gripped the spine of his book slightly tighter before letting the hold he had on it loosen and starting walking again.

The chill in the air seemed to almost deepen, and Harry gripped the book tightly once again. He heard distant footsteps in the hallway and he upped his walking pace, attempting to reach the library as soon as possible. He didn’t want to run into anyone, if he could so help it. Particularly since the unfortunate encounter with Rosier that had ended up with him at the infirmary.

He had fast become a target for the three third year students, and though was thankful for not many others joining in — a result perhaps of his relationship with Avery, who seemed to be well connected within the house — it hadn’t taken long for Rosier’s friends to follow suit. Cruel remarks and taunts had quickly followed in the corridors, and when professors weren’t looking they’d often try to hit him with painful hexes or embarrassing jinxes. Succeeding in hitting him just about enough to make Harry be careful at the corridors, despite remembering Avery’s advice and his brother’s promise. 

Harry closed his eyes in an attempt to clear his mind, and loosened his hold on the defence book as he opened them again before pushing it against his chest once again. He felt himself growing calmer at the touch of the hardcover’s edges. 

It was after some minutes of walking that the bright light that shone from the library into the surrounding dimmer hallways became visible, with sounds of the voices of students as they exited it quickly following. 

Harry took a deep breath in, and resolved to be quick. He’d get a few books on defence from the library to study and use for the essay and then leave quickly for his dorm room in order to read the letter from Dorea and Charlus. Their reply had ended up arriving sooner than what he had first expected, sooner than those from his parents, and he hoped they knew the information he was curious about.

He clenched his hands and took a breath in. He’d be quick though, he didn’t want to run into anyone. He turned and made his way to the library, feeling a familiar sense of peace fill him as he entered the massive room. It was mostly empty, with only a few older students — mostly Ravenclaws — inside it. It looked partially deserted, and even the rows of books that often were crowded with first and second year students had virtually no one around.

Harry made his way to the rows where he knew most of the Defence Agains the Dark Arts-related books were located. Quickly starting to scan the titles of the books atop the shelves as soon as he reached the area that seemed to contain a genre of titles that looked particularly promising.

It didn’t take him long to settle for two that looked both interesting and useful, and would likely both be useful for the particular essay he had to hand in and his own studies. _‘A Theory of Defence and its Applications’_ had been easy to find, being on one of the uppermost shelves. It was a book that seemed slightly worn out through use, though the contents pages had made it seem quite in depth and detailed. _‘Casting Strategies: their Explanation, History, and Applications’_ had quickly followed thereafter. Though, despite the useful-looking contents pages and in contrast to the first book he had picked up, Harry had been surprised to see how new it looked despite the clear 30s printing date. 

Defence classes had seen them delve deeper into the form, grip, and posture one ought to take when casting spells, with professor Riddle giving an amazing amount of depth to his explanations. Practice of these things had quickly followed — something that had surprised Harry by how interesting it was despite having first expected that the practice of spells would be the most interesting part of the subject. Stances, postures, and grips, as well as other relating concepts, had ended up being outright fascinating.

It was something that, as far as Harry knew, no one in their class seemed to really disagree with. The approach and method of teaching the subject, that was. Which, judging by the apparently great results professor Riddle often managed to obtain from most students, which Harry had admittedly mostly heard from Avery or older Slytherins, was nothing if not effective.

Harry quickly checked out the books, and hastily leaved the library with the now three volumes tucked under his left arm. Barely fifteen minutes ought to have passed since he had first entered the library, and most students were most likely still at the Great Hall. James would certainly be, judging by the routine he seemed to have settled into, though Severus, perhaps, had probably started returning to their dorm room by now.

He sped up his already hasty pace as he finally started walking through the hallway he had used to reach the library. The wind outside seemed to have picked up a noticeable amount of speed, and the air, which still had that certain chill about it, had grown slightly more humid. It would rain that night, that much was obvious, and judging by the overcast sky it could likely turn into quite a storm.

Harry smiled. How would it look from the Slytherin dungeons? Thunder and lightning, that was. Would it be reflected in the mermaid community visible on the outside, on the lake’s waters…? 

Harry slowed his pace and adjusted his grip on the three books once he felt he had made enough distance away from the library. He found himself relaxing. He was sufficiently close to the Slytherin Common Room now, it wouldn’t take him too long to reach the familiar area. The hallways were quiet, meaning everyone _was_ likely still down in the Great Hall, as he had supposed, and the knowledge of it was strangely soothing.

Would Severus had gone to their dorm room? He had grown used to spending time with the other Slytherin, having fallen into the habit of studying with him and Lily at the library more often than not, but…

Harry rounded a corner, and started making his way down some stairs. He reached the bottom of them swiftly, and relaxed at the familiar sight and wider corridors of the dungeons of the castle. He took a deep breath in and reached into his pocket for the letter he had just received.

Just as went to round the corner that would lead him to the wide hallway where the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room was, he was suddenly grabbed up from behind. A hand slapped over his mouth to keep him from screaming, and Harry’s grip on his books loosened enough to accidentally let go of them. Going on to fall onto the floor loudly. 

“I got him! Get over here and help me!”

Harry recognized the voice. It belonged to one of Rosier’s friends — one of the burly looking ones that had been with the third year that time at the Slytherin Common Room.

He grit his teeth and cursed. He knew that the three no-good third years had been consistently aiming for him over the last week, why had he let his guard down? Harry immediately started struggling, and managed to get an arm free. He reached for his wand — it was in his right pocket, and if he could reach it and cast any spell that hit them…

Before he could so much as even grab hold of it, however, his arm was grabbed and pinned down by a second person. Turning his head, Harry immediately recognised Evan Rosier. There was a third person behind the two — a somewhat thin one Harry remembered seeing only passingly around Rosier.

Harry felt his blood freeze. He was alone, and there were three of them. Even if he reached his wand, he’d likely be unable to do much of anything before one restrained or hexed him.

Rosier looked around, nodded back at his two friends, and started walking towards the left as the other two grabbed Harry by his arms.

Harry soon found himself being dragged off by the three Slytherins, unable to scream for help or do anything to stop them from doing whatever they planned to do to him. He refused to simply submit to the older students, however, and kept on struggling despite realizing the likely futility of it. Managing to earn a few curses and glares from the older students as they dragged him on forwards. The three discarded books being left behind, scattered, atop the cold stone floor.

By the time they made it to their destination, someplace that seemed to be far from the common room, his struggles had weakened considerably. They hauled him over to a door that appeared to belong to an abandoned classroom, roughly shoving him inside.

Harry fell onto the floor nearly head-first, barely just managing to draw both his arms around it before he collided with the stone floor. He attempted to regain his posture and stand up, and grimaced as he eyed the room he had been taken to. The three Slytherins followed him inside.

He gulped. His arms hurt from the fall and how he had been dragged, and by the time he finally managing to get on his feet the three third years were already surrounding him. Their smiles making what this was about more than clear. He didn’t want to get caught up in this, not again, not ever. What had he done to deserve it, other than being himself? He attempted to reach for his wand again, mind reverting to the Defence classes, and—

Two wands quickly were drawn and directed at him. “Don’t even think about it, Potter,” the burly one dared. 

Harry stopped at the sight of the wands, and quickly glanced around. There had to be something, anything that could help. Another door, perhaps, or furniture he could run behind, or—. Harry clenched his fists. The classroom was completely empty, with only dust coating the floors and a small breeze coming from the outside. Rosier’s posture relaxed ever so slightly. His shoulders loosening as he drew out his own at a more lazy and relaxed pace.

“Now, Potter. You should know better than attempting to get away. There’s only one way out of this classroom” Rosier said, smile still the same as when he had entered the abandoned room.

Harry was surprised by how angry he felt, even amongst the fear that drowned him. “I’ve done nothing against any of you.”

Rosier grinned an ugly grin as a way of response, and simply started walking closer to Harry, half circling him with his wand pointed at him. His body posture was relaxed and confident, free of any worry.

It was clear that he expected, knew, that Harry wouldn’t be able to do a single thing about the situation, and the fact made Harry’s blood almost boil. He hated how the otherwise peaceful beginning to the hear had descended into… _this_. Hated how, most likely, if he were to suddenly reach for his wand and aim a spell the three third years would likely manage to get at him first. Was all he could manage be protection from his twin and teachers? If things were already like this, and didn’t change, how would the next years be for him?

“Maybe, but you’re fully deserving of this, Potter. Your type doesn’t belong in Slytherin. Muggle-loving blood traitors are the bane of us all,” Rosier spat.

Harry attempted to find the courage to straighten his back and look at the third year’s eyes. He was virtually completely defenseless, he knew he couldn’t do anything. That didn’t mean, however, that he’d just sit back and allowed it.

Harry remembered the way his own father would sometimes put up a courageous front, a mask, by straightening his back and jutting his jaw forwards whenever he was about to meet an important client or business partner. Giving the impression of much-needed confidence in politics and business even where there was none and the situation was, most likely, desperate.

 _‘To conceal feelings and not show the fear one may feels, Harry,’_ as Fleamont Potter had once explained him. That showing the fear one might really feel was the one thing, the one victory, that one could never hand over to an enemy. That posture often indicated confidence of success and could betray one’s own thoughts. Give hints and information about one’s own plans, and a certain twisted pleasure to an attacker. He hadn’t received as much education on negotiations as his brother, as James, had, but this had been one of the few things that he had remembered above all others.

Harry managed to straighten his back, and jutted his jaw forwards in imitation of his father. The last week had been hell as it was, and no matter how much fear he really truly felt, his anger wouldn’t allow him to simply submit.

“What did you want, Rosier?” Harry dared himself to ask. He glanced again around the classroom. How should he respond to this? Should he attack, or try to make a run for it? The only door that led into the room was behind the three third years, and with all three wands pointed at him…

Rosier grinned, and it didn’t look anything but malicious. “I think, Potter, that it’s about time that you learn how things work around here.”

Harry felt his stomach turn. “I haven’t done anything to you,” he repeated, voice quieter than what he intended it to be. “This really isn’t necessary, Rosier.” He suddenly became aware of the slight trembling of his right hand, and he clenched his fist. He didn’t want to give them the pleasure, and—.

“You should have never been allowed into Slytherin. You’re worth nothing, and you’re going to learn that one way or another,” Rosier snarled.

Perhaps he should attempt to reach his wand and cast something, anything. Maybe it would work, and—

“Don’t even think about it, Potter,” the thinner Slytherin shouted, as if reading Harry’s intentions. Rosier smiled, and Harry found himself freezing in the spot. His brave front started collapsing, and he felt himself fall away from the posture he had copied from his father.

“The other first years, Avery and Mulciber, may put up with you because of something their families have told them — who knows what they are thinking to bother being with not just the halfblood, but also you,” Rosier continued. “But you’ll learn your place. I promise that. Blood-traitor.” 

The burly third year shouted something, making the thin one laugh in response. Harry felt dizzy, and decided to attempt to reach for his wand. Perhaps he’d manage to do something to help himself get away, but what spell could he even use?

Rosier stepped forwards, and Harry couldn’t suppress a flinch as he was forced backwards, towards the wall opposite of the door. He reached into his right pocket, attempting to reach his wand, and quickly starting to mutter the first spell that came to his mind. Rosier, who had been keeping his own pointed at Harry, cast his quicker.

“Petrificus Totalus!” he shouted.

The curse hit Harry straight on, and he felt his arms snap to his sides. His legs sprang together, and his whole body went rigid. He swayed where he stood and then fell flat on his face, stiff as a board. Harry’s jaws jammed together, making him unable to speak. Only his eyes could move.

Rosier laughed, and signaled something to his two friends.

“I hope you don’t mind empty places, Potter,” the burly one mocked.

“Or the dark,” finished the thin one.

They started making their way out of the abandoned classroom, and slammed the door shut. Harry heard one of them mutter a spell he didn’t quite catch, and desperately attempted to move as he heard the door lock itself. He couldn’t speak and couldn’t move even to cast the counter-curse or ask for help. He couldn’t do anything.

Harry heard the footsteps of the three Slytherins walking away amidst laughs, and he was soon left in total silence. The abandoned classroom was near-dark, and by what he could remember of the turns they had dragged him through, it was quite far away from the Slytherin common room.

How long until someone found him? Would he end up spending hours like this?

Harry panicked.

The night got increasingly darker and the light within the abandoned classroom dimmer as it advanced. The wind got stronger, fulfilling the promise of a storm hinted at by the overcast sky. The chill got progressively worse as minutes crawled by and transformed into what may have been hours. Rain had already started pouring outside by the time Harry heard the locked door open again. Deceptively light in how it sounded, though undoubtedly heavy judging by the smell of damp grass and earth, and the thick humidity that clung to the air.

The sound of approaching steps grew progressively louder, mixing with that of the rain, and a conjunction of two very different, though familiar voices, grew unmistakeable louder. They seemed to be talking slightly loudly.

The locked door was tested in a futile attempt to be opened, and Harry froze for a fraction of a second. A pause, and then—

 _“Alohomora!”_  

Harry felt his heart speed up at the sound of the spell — Snape, with Avery right besides him.

They stared in silence as the door unlocked itself, and Harry felt relief wash over him as he saw it being opened. How much time had passed? He could feel a slight pain in his joints already, and— 

“There he is!” Avery exclaimed, quickly walking up to Harry’s petrified body after quickly making sure the room was empty. Behind him, Severus followed. His wand was still in his right hand, and books were held tightly on his other. Three volumes, the same ones Harry had lost when Rosier had—

“We’re lucky you noticed the books and that he was missing, Severus. If you hadn’t…” Avery muttered as he kneeled besides Harry.

Both boys looked at Harry silently, attempting to make out what had happened.

“He’s petrified,” Severus stated after a few moments. “I don’t know the counter-curse, though. Do you, Alden?”

Avery remained still in the spot as he looked at Harry. Outside, the rain kept pouring down. “I can’t say I do. At last, other than the prettification, Harry seems to be fine,” he finally said.

Severus placed his wand back in his pocket and kept his hold on the three books. “We’ll need to take him to a teacher.”

Avery nodded. “Professor Riddle. He’ll know the counter-curse and what to do.” Severus nodded, and this seemed to spur Avery into action. “Let’s take him to his office, then. We’ll need to tell Potter too, though. Who knows what that Gryffindor will be doing since seeing us looking for Harry.”

Severus nodded, and Harry soon found himself being helped onto his feet and held upright by his two dorm mates. Rain was still falling by the time they reached the office of their Head of House — a recognizable room within the class they had their Defence classes at. The same chill that Harry had felt earlier was still there, and the air was still thick with humidity and the smell of damp earth and grass. 

Professor Riddle opened the door almost immediately after Severus knocked. Looking down at the three students, his eyes widened every so slightly, instantly understanding the situation.

 

* * *

 

“You were quite lucky to be found by your friends as quickly as you were, Mr. Potter. It is good that they noticed your absence as quickly as they did, else you would have been left petrified in that classroom for longer.” 

Professor Riddle looked calm and composed, much like he always seemed. The high-quality teaching-robes he often wore during daytime were nowhere to be seen, and instead he seemed to have donned some more comfortable wizarding robes in dark colors. He was standing besides the chair Harry was sitting on, posture showing the grace that Harry had only ever seen in some of his father’s pureblood business associates. His dark eyes were looking downwards, fixed on Harry with what looked like concern.

Harry gulped and nodded, half-distracted by relishing the feeling of movement as he stretched his arms. The weight of the three books he had been carrying felt heavy on his legs, and what otherwise would have quickly become an unpleasant feeling felt nothing but wonderful instead.

“I know, Sir. If Severus hadn’t found my books lying close to the Slytherin Common Room, like he said…” Harry muttered nervously. He glanced up at professor Riddle before pursing his lips slightly and quickly flattening them. Rosier… Harry quickly looked back down, and focused on the on the office of the Slytherin Head of House.

Professor Riddle’s office was exactly what one would expect from the Hogwarts Defence teacher. The room was thoroughly elegant, on the level of some of the best decorated rooms Harry had sometimes seen, though not as needlessly lavish and extravagant as those he remembered from the Malfoy manor. Though located within the tower in which Defense was often taught it didn’t give the appearance of being cramped — an achievement considering the elegant furniture within. 

A wide desk sat at the very centre of the room, and atop it were various neatly-organized piles of papers and books. It was surrounded by three plush-looking chairs in various shades of silvers and greens, with one behind the desk — whereupon professor Riddle had been sitting at Severus and Avery’s arrival — and two before it, aligned so they were facing the one at a slightly diagonal angle. It was on one of these that Harry was currently sitting on — the same one professor Riddle had asked Avery and Severus to place him when they had first taken him into the office.

A lit fireplace painted the silver-coloured carpet that covered the stone floor with warm reds and yellows, giving the room a pleasantly welcoming feeling. A plethora of soft and hard cover books and writings adorned the bookshelves on the walls, with the remaining uncovered walls being adorned with a few landscape paintings and incredibly detailed drawings — mostly of European cityscapes and architecture, by what Harry could tell.

He could recognize the things in only a few of them. First and foremost, a drawing of Hogwarts as seen from the Forbidden Forest hanging neatly besides the wooden door that led into the room. The drawing was breathtaking despite being handmade, and gave the impression of a movement that shouldn’t have been there for something that was pencil-drawn. The branches of the forest’s pines swayed with the wind ever so slightly, and ominous, atop the hill on which it sat, was a Hogwarts illuminated by moonlight. 

Atop a smaller table, one with a pile of hardcover books, rested a few more drawings. One picture depicted a a series of gardens and buildings, with a baroque palace-like building with an impressive gilded dome at the very centre. Another drawing, the only other one not obscured by other things, showed what probably was the cityscape of Florence. 

This was the first time Harry had been in professor Riddle’s office, and he had to admit that he hadn’t expected a space as small to be both elegant and welcoming. It was everything professor Dumbledore’s office was not, and wherein the Headmaster’s office had looked more cluttered and active — alive, somewhat — professor Riddle’s was nothing if not tidy and oddly controlled.

“Thank you for helping me, professor. When they locked me in the classroom I thought I’d be there all night.”

Professor Riddle smiled. “There’s no need to thank me, Mr. Potter. As your head of house, it was my duty,” he said before walking around the wooden desk, towards the chair facing the entrance. 

Harry nodded, and pushed his lips again. Rosier… That this, of all things had happened, and would likely keep happening… He could still feel the panic he had felt clear as day, feel the terrible feeling of falling whilst immobile. The terror of being unable to move. His heart beating too fast and the fear he had felt.

Professor Riddle sat on the chair that faced the other two, and rested his hands atop its surface. He leaned forwards. “If I may ask, Mr. Potter, has this been the first time that—” 

Harry interrupted professor Riddle before realizing he had. “It has,” he cut. He frowned as soon as he realised what he had said. It hadn’t been the first time Rosier and his friends had attacked—, bullied him, though it _had_ been the first time they had done anything like this.

Professor Riddle squinted his eyes and observed Harry in silence for a few seconds. The suspicion in his eyes prompted Harry to go back on his accidental answer, and give clarity to his words.

“Or well, it hasn’t. The other times, though… Well, they weren’t so bad. They weren’t like… this,” Harry said, struggling to put everything into words. He knew professor Riddle had dealt with Rosier after the incident that had left him in the infirmary, and was sure that he probably had heard about everything else. He still didn’t quite know how to talk about everything, though. How to put it into words.

Professor Riddle nodded, and leaned back slightly. “I am aware that over the last week you have found yourself a… target, Mr. Potter,” he said after a few more seconds of silence.

Harry nodded, and looked down. Sensing the change of mood, professor Riddle smiled reassuringly. “Though I can understand the shame that often comes with experiencing these things, I can promise you that there’s no need to feel so,” he continued, voice sounding confident.The same concern Harry had seen when taken into his office by Avery and Severus was still there.

Harry nodded, and stretched his arms again in an attempt to get the physical memory of not being able to move away. Professor Riddle kept his eyes focused on him, and he found himself looking back up and at him again. For the first time in the night, Harry found himself relaxing slightly.

“I… Will I need to talk to the headmaster over this?” Harry asked, after a few seconds. “Will everything that Severus and Avery said be enough to…” He didn’t know how these things were dealt with in the school. Would have to go again to Dumbledore’s office and repeat all of the events? Meet with Rosier inside it and—

“It will, everything they described was more than enough” professor Riddle said with a nod, seeming to guess immediately Harry’s worry. “Needless to say, I shall deal the appropriate punishment swiftly, Mr. Potter. These things are something that I, as the Slytherin head of house can deal with directly.”

Harry visibly relaxed, and he leaned back into the chair’s back. It was plush and comfortable — it reminded him of the chairs and sofas his own family had at their living room.

“Did anything happen other than what Mr. Avery and Mr. Snape described?” professor Riddle continued.

Harry shook his head. “No, what they said was pretty much all of it. I was walking to the common room when Rosier and his friends grabbed me,” he started saying. “They took me to an empty classroom and petrified me because I…” 

Harry paused in the middle of his sentence, and looked down to his knees. What could he do about what had happened? If things continued like this and he did nothing… Just how many things would he have to go through and how hurt would he end up because of Rosier and his friends? He frowned.

“Neither Mr. Rosier nor his two friends will get away with their actions, Mr. Potter. Rest assured that they will get the punishment they deserve — at this, and any future times. Bullying isn’t a thing to be tolerated,” the head of house said. His voice sounded sympathetic.

Harry looked back up, his heart beating wildly. A strange silence descended on the room, and his frown deepened. He didn’t know what to do, no matter what he had told James after the incident that had landed him in the infirmary for a night. Avery had been right in saying that Rosier wouldn’t stop no matter what anyone did, and…

Perhaps he could ask professor Riddle for advice. He would be able to help him, wouldn’t he? All of the Slytherins seemed to admire him, and he had heard several stories from Avery and other Slytherins about how their head of house was. Slytherins took care of their own.

Harry’s eyes widened. Yes, asking wouldn’t do any harm.

“Sir, what can I do about this?” Harry started saying, almost muttering the words through a quiet voice. “I know that you told me I could come to talk to you about any problem I had, but Rosier was already punished the first time, and—.”

Harry breathed in and attempted to collect himself. He stretched his arms again, they felt too uncomfortable. Rosier’s words flashed through his head, and Harry looked up and met the eyes of his Head of House once more. 

“Professor Riddle,” he started, voice surprisingly clear despite feeling nervous at giving his question voice. “What if… what if Rosier doesn’t stop? What should I do?” he finally asked. What was the best way in which to respond

 “Slytherins take care of their own, Mr. Potter. You have already heard what will be done, though it doesn’t seem like that is exactly the answer to your question,” he said, looking at Harry with sharp eyes.

Harry frowned. Of course he knew he could rely on teachers to react to it, but that was hardly the position he always wanted to be in. No one would always be around to defend him, he knew that, it had been made clear to him ever since he had started his studies early. 

He knew he had been an outcast of sorts until now and ever since the sorting, though not counting his dorm mates. He couldn’t have been happier for that, for the fact that they had been people he could spend time with. Even if he didn’t think he was that close to most of them, Severus had still been the one to help him to the infirmary the first time, and the one to notice his absence and look for him this time, together with Avery. 

Nothing about that could change everything else, however, and he knew he could end up in bigger problems than those relating to concealing his sight.

Harry knew what his father had told him relating to how their family’s removal from the Sacred Twenty-Eight — about his grandfather Henry’s outspoken pro-Muggle views, and his support of aiding them during the First World War. A blood traitor. 

It wasn’t something that Harry had honestly ever cared about. Labels — he knew about the prejudices most people had, even if only from overhearing his parents and brother, rather than seeing them himself. It had never been something he had ever thought much about, nor something he truly considered important. He personally thought his father was right — it was magic that was important. However, what was he to do if everyone else thought the opposite thing? If most people in Slytherin not just noticed, but _cared_.

He knew what he had to do to stop Rosier, truth be told. What he had to do, if he had the courage for it. But if things got worse, how could he survive and avoid finding himself in a bad position over the next years?

Harry would never have the easy friendships his twin had — he knew. Slytherin seemed to be fundamentally different from Gryffindor — ambitious, with everything that that fact brought along with it, for both the big and the small ambitions. He would never be in Gryffindor like James and his parents before him, and though that didn’t bother him now, not compared to what he had thought after the sorting… 

How did one survive in Slytherin, when they seemed to be against everything that the house represented? How did one avoid finding themselves outnumbered, or…

_How?_

Harry clenched his fists and gathered courage. “Sir, Rosier is the only one that’s attacked me for now, but with my family’s apparent reputation, what if others turn against me?” He took a deep breath in. “How does one survive in Slytherin, Sir? Avoid being outnumbered?”

Professor Riddle observed him in silence, as if thinking about the question. His eyes still looked sharp, but with certain understanding evident in his features. His expression turned unreadable quickly, however, and Harry suddenly wasn’t sure he knew what his head of house was thinking at all. 

He didn’t seem shocked at the question, however.

Professor Riddle leaned forwards. His back straightened as he placed both his arms on the wood of the table once again with a strangely graceful and fluid movement. “It is playing the game that always determines success in Slytherin, Mr. Potter. No matter how it may seem to be like, no matter what one may be.”

He seemed confident — certain — but Harry didn’t quite understand what he meant. “The game?”

Professor Riddle smiled. “To go from the bottom of the bottoms in the Slytherin house up to the very top is quite a possible feat, Mr. Potter. So long as one learns to play the game.”

Harry frowned and looked at his defence teacher questioningly, otherwise remained silent.

Professor Riddle paused to observe Harry, allowing a few seconds to go before continuing. “Listen, pay attention to the things and people around you and know when to act, Mr. Potter,” professor Riddle said. The sharpness in his eyes remained firmly in place, as did the palpable confidence behind his words.

Harry’s eyes widened, finally understanding what his head of house meant. He nodded almost immediately. “Thank you, professor. I think that answers my question,” he said, smiling immediately.

Professor Riddle nodded and offered a polite smile. “It is what I am here for, Mr. Potter. No matter how innocuous a thing something may seem.”

Harry nodded and got up, and held the three books between both his arms.

Though the advice was rather strange, it seemed like something worth contemplating and considering. Something remarkably similar to the things his father had taught him before Harry had had to focus exclusively on divination. It was something he could do, or at least attempt in the long run to avoid more people like Rosier.

Now, Rosier…

Harry’s eyes drifted to the drawings hanging from the walls as he left the office. He paused on his way to the door to look at the detailed drawings. The detail… had he been the one to draw then?

Harry turned to look at professor Riddle, who had shifted his position on his chair and reached for a book at Harry’s retreat.

“Sir, if you don’t mind my asking,” Harry said quietly despite the curiosity bubbling within. He had never seen anything like them before. “Did you do all these drawings, professor?” 

The Slytherin Head of House met his eyes, “ah.” He smiled politely and glanced to the side table. “That is Florence's Palazzo Vecchio, as seen from the _Piazza della Signoria_. The other the _Dôme des Invalides_ , in Paris.”

Harry looked back at the drawings, feeling a certain sense of admiration — the level of detail with which the buildings were depicting was astounding. Harry nodded. Perhaps, something that Harry found himself surprised by even more was the fact that they _had_ been drawn by the defense professor.

 “All that detail is from memory, professor?” he asked.

Professor glanced back at Harry and paused, the polite smile still there. His eyes, however, seemed to be heavy with some sort of almost-concealed intensity. He leaned forwards again, and placed his arms atop the desk. His posture relaxed.

“Memory is a most precious thing to have, Mr. Potter, and perhaps sometimes the only thing we can be said to truly own.”

 

* * *

 

By the time Harry reached the Slytherin Common Room, the wide silver-green room was completely empty of students. A strange silence had settled within it, giving the usually busy room an odd atmosphere. No lights were on save from one or two odd lamps, and the only colors lighting up the room were the reds, oranges, and yellows that shined from the remaining lit fireplaces.

Harry felt himself relax for perhaps the first time of the day, the now-familiar common room with its silvers and greens giving him a strange sense of comfort. He walked towards one of the many couches scattered around, sitting down in one particularly close to one of the lit fireplaces. It was late, judging by the dark blues and near-blacks visible in the waters of the lake, though not too late. Just enough to find the common room empty. 

Harry glanced at his robe’s pockets and reached for the envelope. The letter he had received from his great aunt and uncle was still there — unharmed despite the evening’s events, thankfully. The texture of the thick yellow-white material made the envelope almost pleasant to touch, as well as nearly relaxing in its familiarity. Only his great-uncle Charlus used this type of material for envelopes, Harry’s father usually preferred different materials for both parchment and envelopes.

Though he couldn’t say he disliked how he had spent time at the manor’s library whilst James was out, he loved their family’s collection of books after all, the thought of Charlus brought only joyful memories. Most of summers spent at Charlus’ manor, walking through the woods nearby, though also of the rare exclusions where he had gotten to explore and visiting places he otherwise would have never been able to see. They brought a feeling of yearning he had to admit he didn’t get to the same degree with his parent’s own letters, strangely.

Harry breathed in and took out the letter, resting it atop the three books on his lap. He wanted, _needed_ , to know if he were to be able to understand what was going on. Even if just the very basics of it. There was more going on than the actions he saw take place, something hidden that _motivated_ things. It was something above Stebbins’ father dying, or the box being taken by a group of people — an order. Lucius Malfoy had certainly thought so, and…

Harry opened the envelope delicately, making sure to not harm too much the red wax seal his aunt or uncle had stamped, and took out the letter from its envelope. He didn’t quite manage to focus on the printed words immediately, however, and he found his mind wondering.

Why was it important enough to make a death necessary — what greater good could justify something like that? What were the Order of the Phoenix and the Knights of Walpurgis? It was something he had been desperately wishing to know — the group he had heard from Avery and Lucius Malfoy before. Then, his dream…

Harry took out the letter contained within the envelope. 

‘ _Dear Nephew,’_

He smiled at the familiar greeting and neat cursive of Dorea, who must have written the letter in Charlus’ stead, and started reading the surprisingly long letter. His smile immediately grew into a grin as he saw their description of the things that had been happening over the past weeks. The new owl they had bought two months back, a bird of very strong character, seemed to have finally mellowed out to both of them. 

The tour they were currently taking of magical ruins in Greece, something Harry hadn’t heard about until now, had the both of them as happy as could be. It was beautiful, apparently. Awe-inspiring, according to Dorea. The magical ruins in Sparta had been an impressive sight, and the ruins of the labyrinth of Minos even more so. Both terrifying and inspiring all at once.

They had bought he and James a few gifts too, which they’d send the both of them once they were back in England.

Then followed curious questions about how Harry was finding Hogwarts, and about the friends he had met. About what he thought about classes — including a warning about professor Binns, who both Dorea and Charlus had had to suffer — and Slytherin. Something which great-aunt Dorea seemed to be particularly curious about, given her having been sorted there. She was proud, noticeably, and Harry was surprised to realise just how _glad_ he was at the fact. 

His smile took on a sad edge — he missed Charlus and Dorea. He hadn’t written to them nearly enough since the term had started, and he’d need to change that.

It was only five minutes after having started reading the letter, and once Harry had reached its last page, that he finally saw the answer to his question.

 

_Now, Harry. On the questions that you asked, and the dreams that you described._

_Both Charlus and I have to admit that we were quite surprised to hear about your dreams —neither of us heard even from extended family about the events you saw about what happened to your dorm mate’s father. Following your concern, Charlus and I thought that we could ask personal friends and my extended family about whether they heard about the events. Considering you mentioned overhearing Lucius Malfoy talking about it, it wouldn’t be a far stretch to assume my Black cousins would know at least something about it. However, that it didn’t appear in the Daily Prophet or other newspapers is worrying. Particularly considering in how public a place the events took place at._

_I won’t lie, Harry — the things you mentioned in your letter are worrying. Neither me or Charlus find ourselves in positions that give us a lot of knowledge about these sort of events, and the only politics we participate in are those relating to our seats in the Wizengamot. There are many things going on in the background which you, or us, to be fully honest, don’t know. Many of the things relating to politics are hard to uncover, more so when relating to the groups and people with real influence._

_Charlus and I know that your parents have kept you and James mostly in the dark concerning politics — with good intentions. Things are tenser than what you might imagine. However, we understand that it is your right to know. Particularly given your unique gift. ‘Scientia potentia est’. Knowledge is power — an invaluable commodity that we may use for our benefit, and which allows us to take choices and perform actions in such a way so as to benefit our interests. Considering your dreams, and the many hidden forces at work in politics currently, I can confidently say that we can at least relay to you what we know on what you asked us. Knowledge of things can only help and benefit us._

_To answer your questions, Harry. The Knights of Walpurgis are a known political pressure group, set up for the defence of the wizarding world and its traditions. It has a significant amount of influence, and it has successfully pushed legislation forwards since its beginning. It likely wields larger amounts of power than what is apparent, both politically and monetarily, though it is quite secretive. Its founder was Tom Marvolo Riddle, that is, the Defence professor at Hogwarts. Make no mistake, however, Harry. He is greatly admired and hated for his building up of the organization and its success — likely why you were warned against him by your parents._

_The Order of the Phoenix, however, is more of a mystery. We know that it was set up a bit over decade ago, in response to a series of violent attacks which were taking place at the time. That is, the series of attacks that took place during the 1950s, which you’ll have heard about. It holds no political positions — it isn’t a pressure group like the Knights of Walpurgis.There isn’t much that Charlus and I can help you with in relation to it, and if you want to know more your parents are more likely to be able to answer your questions. They have been in contact with it more than either of us have in the past._

_We hope that our answers were of help, Harry, though we apologize for not being able to give you more details on things. There are always more things at play than one might realise, something which you’ll have no doubt have realized with your gift._

_You’ll see that we have included int he envelope a drawing we found whilst traveling close to Delphi. It’s a muggle painting, though we know it is something you were interested in researching. It is a copy of a painting by Eugène Delacroix, from what we were told — ‘Lycurgus Consulting the Pythia’. The high priestess of the Oracle of Delphi._

_Anyone can change their fate, Harry, never forget that. No matter what you see._

_With love,_

_Charlus and Dorea_

Harry kept glancing at the paper, and immediately reread the last page. It made sense, he thought. Though in light of what the Knights of Walpurgis were, things didn’t seem to be entirely clear. Just _what_ had been in the box that Stebbins’ father had been carrying? Harry shook his head and looked out of the windows of the common room. The waters of the lake were completely dark now, and the reds and yellows of the fireplaces seemed to have dimmed down slightly. It was late.

His knowledge of divination was still far from complete, and how, then, could he then attempt to aid those related to the things he saw? What were the best ways to do so? The information he had given the last time hadn’t changed the end result, and though it was impossible to tell how things had really happened…

How had his warning affected what he had seen, if at all? What did this show about the nature of his dreams?

_How?_

The questions alone had made his blood freeze at the realization that all that he had studied ever since discovering his gift could not matter at all if he didn’t understand the nature of it. What it was and what this meant, along with, then, how he could warn people against the future — as it was something which possible, right? 

Right? 

A warning about the future or negative consequences, no matter how detailed, didn’t mean things had to necessarily change. People’s own pride could kill them, Icarus’ tale made that clear. A warning against getting too close to the sun didn’t mean it definitely wouldn’t happen.

Maybe if he had given a better-worded warning, perhaps attempted to contact his dorm mate’s father, things would have been different. However, what would be the best way of doing so?

Harry’s eyes widened ever so slightly. Putting what he saw into words and relaying them to one single person wouldn’t be enough. He would never be able to see and grasp the impact of his words, would never be able to understand about the wider meaning in which they took place. He’d need to be bolder, dare to experiment and truly learn about his gift in whatever way he could. Understand his gift. 

Harry breathed in. Yes. He needed to understand more, study more. His mother had been right when she had made him start early on, in order to take advantage of his gift. He needed to continue, to focus more.

Only that way would he be able to help people avoid suffering, help them stop it. 

Harry looked again at the envelope and found a piece of paper he had missed when taking out the letter. It was a drawing, just like the letter had said, drawn in black and white. It focused on a man carrying a laurel branch, with a sacrificed lamb before him. In front of him, and atop a pillar of some sort, was a woman seemingly studying him. The famed Pythia — high priestess of the Oracle. A snake circled around a stand with a lit fire.

Turning the drawing around, Harry found a hand-copied extract of a verse he didn’t recognize:

 _‘…here I am minded to make a glorious temple, an oracle for men, and hither they will always bring perfect hecatombs, both those who live in rich Peloponnesus and those of Europe and all the wave-washed isles, coming to seek oracles. And I will deliver to them all counsel that cannot fail, giving answer in my rich temple.’_

Harry turned the drawing around again, and looked at the strange and unknown scene. He felt strange. Like things were going over his head. If the events of the last weeks showed anything, it was that he didn’t understand things completely. He had the terrible feeling that the most important parts of it all escaped him.

He’d talk to James about it tomorrow.

Harry stood up and gathered his things. He needed to sleep, clear his head. He was tired and he could feel his eyelids start to feel heavy, despite his mind feeling as if it was on overdrive.

 

* * *

 

Bright morning colors filled the Great Hall with cheer. Halloween decorations hung from the ceilings in all their glory, and students whispered excitedly all the whilst some others looked around with distaste. Stebbins remained oddly silent, and Harry’s other dorm mates organised plans for the night.

Harry paid attention to the conversation and the food on his plate only slightly. His eyes were focused on the other side of the hall, where James was talking animatedly with Sirius and Peter, gesticulating wildly with his arms. He looked cheerful, excited. By his attitude, Harry could tell he was most likely planning something of some sort. James noticed Harry for a second, and smiled kindly, before returning to his friends and laughing about something. Besides him, Harry saw the boy he had met at the boats, Remus Lupin, suddenly join into his conversation. 

Could he really get up from his seat and take him away from his when he looked so joyful and completely at ease? James had already expressed his gratitude to Harry’s friends, amazingly, before entering the hall, and to interrupt him now…

“Harry?” he suddenly heard someone besides him ask. Severus.

Harry turned and looked at the eyes of the person that had found him yesterday.

“Are you okay?” the dark haired boy asked.

Harry forced a smile and nodded. “Yes, thank you, Severus.”

The other didn’t look like he really believed it. He glanced at the direction Harry had been looking at. “Don’t worry about your twin, Harry. You’ll be able to talk to him later,” he said.

Harry nodded. Yes, he would be able to tell him later, at some point. He was with his friends now, and it’d be a bit strange if he walked up to him now, wouldn’t it?

What he knew wasn’t really of importance in the end. All he had were dreams about things that didn’t seem to impact people, at least directly, and the strange orphanage. Besides that were the explanations his great aunt and uncle had given him and the interpretation of his tarot reading, which, if he was honest, only gave hints at the future importance of both of the groups he had asked about.

Harry nodded absentmindedly and reached to add some more food to his breakfast dish. He glanced quickly at the book bag beneath the table. They’d have double Potions today, and…

He looked up at Severus and smiled more cheerfully, “you’re right, Severus. I shouldn’t worry about it.” 

Severus nodded, though didn’t turn away from Harry. His dark eyes focused entirely on his. He looked worried.

Harry smiled again, and was surprised to realise it wasn’t forced. “Severus,” he started.

Severus frowned, seemingly not being able to tell what Harry was going to say. He remained silent, awaiting Harry’s next words.

He hadn’t thanked the other boy yet for finding him the day before. Nor Avery, for that matter. Snape had been the one to notice his absence and pick up his books, and…

“Thank you for yesterday, and for… you know,” Harry said, stumbling over some of his words. “If you hadn’t noticed I was missing, I don’t know how much time I’d have spent there in the end because of Rosier.” 

Severus nodded, though didn’t say anything. Harry looked back at his breakfast. He was tempted to look back at the Gryffindor table, and—

“Call me Sev,” his dorm mate suddenly said.

Harry’s smile turned genuine. He’d leave James with his friends for now, he could always tell him later. For now, all he had to do was eat breakfast together with his dorm mates, and go to the library after classes to find any more useful books on Scrying.

At the other side of the hall, James laughed loudly. 

A clock on the wall hit eight, and as it started chiming multiple owls few into the Great Hall. Gasps of excitement and excited mutters were heard all around the hall as packages were dropped alongside newspapers and other periodical publications and magazines.

Two newspapers were dropped in front of Avery by a darkly coloured short-eared owl, much like during every morning — the Daily Prophet, and Wizarding World News. Avery reached for the Daily Prophet first, not bothering to stop his conversation with Mulciber, and unfolded the newspaper. Harry head mutters suddenly break out through parts of the Slytherin table, and the loud sounds of laughter and chatter in the Great Hall died down significantly. Avery went abruptly quiet. A group of second years besides them immediately broke out in whispers.

Mulciber frowned at his friend’s sudden silence. “Alden?” he said, reaching closer to look at the newspaper. His eyes widened as he saw the cover. 

Harry’s expression turned grim. He inched closer together with Severus, curious about what could have been reported, and turned pale at the grim image shown in the first page. Stebbins glanced up and looked at the newspaper cover page and clenched his fists.

 

_MURDER AT DIAGON ALLEY_

_(29 October 1971)_

_by Andy Smudgley._

_Believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown, this morning saw the appearance of a mutilated body at Diagon Alley’s main shopping areas. Alastor Moody, an Auror assigned to the investigation, disclosed that that preliminary investigations had revealed the victim’s identity to be that of one Benjy Fenwick — Auror for the Ministry of Magic since 1967. Though investigations are still underway, Auror Moody revealed that the victim’s body showed signs of extensive nerve damage due to the Torture Curse, in addition to wounds and abrasion. “We will ensure the perpetrators of this crime are caught and dealt with,” said Rufus Scrimgeour, head of the Auror Office. A press conference is expected in the following days revealing the results of the investigation, though a leading theory indicates that torture…_

Mulciber looked white. “Merlin, why…?”

Stebbins was shaking. “They refused to report my—,” he muttered.

Avery glanced at Stebbins. “It doesn’t make sense, Stebbins. Reporting this, but not your father’s death…” 

Harry glanced at the front cover again, turning significantly paler. The amount of damage they mentioned could only mean one thing, and the man’s name… He had been the one he had seen in his dream, the burly man who had been present during the attack on Stebbins’ father.

“It was a cover-up,” Avery stated, “it had to be, Stebbins.”

Mulciber frowned. “But why? Why would—”

Harry turned to look at his dorm mates briefly, though avoided Stebbins’ eyes. He turned away almost immediately, however, noticing the grim expressions which most the teachers at the staff table had before he glanced back down.        

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter - I ended up traveling for a few days, and in between that and studies getting in the way I wasn't able to write as much as I'd have liked. Regardless, thank you for all of the support until now, and I hope that you enjoy this chapter.
> 
> Mostly as a note, and in case anyone was curious. The mentions of Florence and Les Invalides are an allusion to Florentine history (particularly the Pazzi conspiracy, though I ended up deciding against naming it explicitly this chapter in favour of doing so later on), and Napoleon. Both being events and people which I'll admit which partly inspired me when thinking about the plot for the story, for a number of reasons. 
> 
> The paragraph on 'sciential potentia est' I borrowed from Hobbes' 'De Corpore', (I enjoy non-fiction works of the type too much, and couldn't resist using it). The original quote goes like this: "The end or scope of philosophy is, that we may make use to our benefit of effects formerly seen ... for the commodity of human life ... The end of knowledge is power ... lastly, the scope of all speculation is the performing of some action, or thing to be done".
> 
> The piece behind the drawing is a part of an Homeric Hymn to Apollo (number three, more particular). A direct reference to the Oracle of Pythia, which will take a more prominent role as a reference or inspiration for Harry in divination.


	10. Chapter 10

“Did you hear, Cresswell? What the Prophet reported today? Can you believe that Fenwick’s house elf…? You know, the Auror’s—”

Avery grimaced at the words of the first year student — Davey Gudgeon, if Harry remembered correctly.

He could only remember the Ravenclaw in passing. He was barely noticeable, with close-set eyes and heavy eyebrows that were his only really noticeable features. His voice was loud and slightly grating, filling the hallway Harry was walking through with his dorm mates excessively. Announcing his every word to all nearby students — by no means a small amount, considering it was the hallway most convenient to reach the classroom in which the Defence Club would take place.

The pale brown-haired boy walking besides the loud boy, another Ravenclaw, sighed. “I know perfectly well, Gudgeon. I read it this morning, and you already pointed it out,” he said, sounding tired. His posture was tense, showing discomfort.

The tone of the pale boy did nothing to deter the first Ravenclaw. “I know, but still—. How many times does something like that happen? To think that days after what happened to that Auror his house elf would confess to having been the one to…” 

“It was reported in the Daily Prophet, there’s no need to repeat it more,” the boy, Cresswell, said with a huff.

Gudgeon frowned, seeming to look insulted. “No, that’s not the point, Dirk. You know what I mean! Apparently the investigation team found that it also stole things from the house. For something like that to happen, and a house elf to be responsible…”

Harry sighed, and turned to look at his dorm mates. Severus was gazing at the two Ravenclaws with somewhat of a blank expression, contrasting with the deceptively stoic way Avery was looking at them. Stebbins, seemed somewhat distracted, just like he had when the news of the death of the Auror. Mulciber looked as visibly annoyed as Severus, though perhaps more overtly.

In front of them the pale Ravenclaw, Cresswell, picked up his pace and started walking quicker. Gudgeon followed behind. 

“He barely seems like a Ravenclaw at all,” Mulciber muttered. His voice sounded sharp. “He’s been shouting about the Daily Prophet report from the Great Hall to here, and we’re almost at the classroom professor Riddle said.”

Avery nodded, seemingly in agreement, and Severus turned his eyes away from the rapidly distancing Ravenclaws and towards the dark haired Slytherin.

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s shocking,” Mulciber continued, as he turned to look at Stebbins, “particularly since news on your father wasn’t reported, Stebbins, and all of this has followed, but they act like Gryffindors. He’s been nearly shouting about it all the way from the Great Hall to here.”

“It’s pathetic, really,” Mulciber finished saying, and Avery nodded again. Their postures relaxed once the two Ravenclaws turned around a corner and out of sight.

They continued through the hallway, walking amongst the other students as they made their way to the classroom professor Riddle had announced in their previous class. Harry felt himself somewhat relax once they eventually reached it, some five minutes later. He was excited, he had to admit, and couldn’t wait to see how the Defense Club would be like.

They entered the classroom, and Harry fell behind Avery and Mulciber, taking to instead walk besides Severus. A group of older students Harry couldn’t recognize, Gryffindors, followed in behind them.

Harry’s eyes widened once he saw the students already inside, and he turned to look at Avery. “It’s really as filled as you said older students mentioned,” he said, almost admiringly .

He hadn’t expected this many students to consider attending the Defense Club, not if the first meeting was to take place on a Saturday. No matter what the older students who regularly attended said about it.

Avery, walking in front of him, turned to look at him with a smile. “I told you,” he said. “Apparently numbers drop down after the first few weeks, but apparently after the third they get regular.” 

Harry nodded, it was easy to imagine. Though the numbers of the older years seemed regular, there was a noticeably high amount of first year students, mostly crowded around the door.

The older years seemed to be mostly standing closer to the edges of the room, further away from the large groups of first years. Harry could barely recognize any familiar faces, save from that of the Slytherin Head Boy — Lucius Malfoy —  alongside his friends. Close to them was Rosier and two of his friends, who didn’t seem to have noticed the group of first year Slytherins at all.

An energetic type of atmosphere filled the classroom chosen by professor Riddle, excited chatter filling the room as students kept arriving. The resulting crowd — a mixture of blues, yellows, greens, and reds — featured students from nearly all houses and years, even though Slytherins seemed slightly more prevalent. It had been nothing short of surprising — Harry had never seen such a large variety of students intermixed in a single room, save for the Great Hall. The fact that it was Saturday made it even more surprising. 

It was relatively early — almost ten in the morning — and bright light shone into the room from the windows. No tables or chairs were in sight within the large classroom, which seemed to have been cleared out in purpose instead. Only a large blackboard featured prominently on one of the sides of the room as the only classroom-like thing within it. In front of it, though at a slight distance, were several rows of mats of mats on the floor, all along one side of the room. Along the opposite wall there were a number of what appeared to be practice dummies of some sort. Mirrors lined most of the walls, seeming to visually enlarge the already wide room whilst making it seem slightly brighter.

They came to a stop once they were in front of one of the first mirrors lining the walls — a reflective surface considerably larger than any Harry had seen before. It was crowded, though slightly less so than at the entrance of the room, where most of the students were gathered. Harry glanced away from the opposite side of the room, and observed his friends again. They seemed as excited as he was, he knew they were, though they were likely doing a considerably better job at hiding it than he was.

Mulciber smiled as he glanced around quickly. “Good that we’re in time, too. I’ve been told by some second years that professor Riddle gives most of the information in the first session,” he said.

Avery nodded in agreement, though didn’t say anything as a way of response, instead looking around the students around them. Harry remained silent, and instead turned to look at Severus, who seemed to be in a somewhat pensive mood. Stebbins was directly behind him, though he was oddly silent, at least when compared to how talkative he had been when school had started. It was odd, seeing the talkative boy Harry had met in September looking as broken as he often now did. He laughed and joined into conversations with Avery and the rest of them often, but… 

Harry quickly glanced away from Stebbins, still not quite daring to look into his eyes. A familiar group of Gryffindors entered the room, and Harry immediately focused on them despite not recognizing any except for his brother and his group of friends. Behind them, was Remus Lupin, the scarred boy from the boats, along with Lily Evans.

He hadn’t been talking to his twin as much as he had during the beginning of term, though he still saw him often enough. He had started growing slightly used to it, to spending so much time with his dorm mates — his friends —, though it still came as an odd feeling. 

James was gesturing widely, with both Black and Pettigrew laughing besides him. Lily, close enough to overhear whatever his twin was saying, looked slightly scornful. Harry smiled at his twin as way of greeting, and though he wasn’t noticed immediately, the gesture was returned by James. Harry noticed Severus eying the group of Gryffindors, eyes focused on the familiar red haired girl that was Lily.

“Do you think we will be divided into groups, Alden?” Mulciber went on to ask after some seconds of silence, oblivious to the group of Gryffindors. “With this many of us…”

Avery hummed, “I imagine so, at least if what the older students have said is true.” Mulciber nodded, and Harry couldn’t hope doing the same.

Severus turned towards them. “I’m not sure about the details, though apparently there’s a high-level group for students particularly keen on Defense,” he suddenly said. He sounded confident, and they all turned towards him. “Lucius Malfoy and Thorfinn Rowle, you know who, along with a few other older Slytherins are in it. Though virtually no one on second or first year even manages to get into the intermediate group.”

Harry looked again at the familiar Slytherin, still at the other end of the room. He was curious, he had to admit. Professor Riddle was clearly a brilliant teaching Defense and widely renowned as an expert in the field, it was obvious from the way he taught alone. What sort of things were students in the highest-level group taught?

He was curious, he had to admit. 

“I wonder what they learn,” Harry said, observing Malfoy again. He was talking to Rowle about something, posture and expression carefully controlled. He had never interacted with him, not really, but the way practically all of the Slytherins respected him was clear.

Mulciber smiled, “I can’t blame you for being curious, though I myself am more envious about it than anything else. The things professor Riddle must teach them…”

Harry couldn’t help but notice the wishful tone of voice with which the dark haired Slytherin said that.

Avery glanced at his friend. “We will advance to that class in time, Marcus,” he said, smiling knowingly. “If we are good enough, of course.” He then paused for a few seconds, as if to think his words. “You must have heard stories about him from your father already” 

Mulciber nodded just as Stebbins glanced up at them. He had an odd expression that Harry couldn’t quite place. His brows were furrowed and his eyes wide, shining with something akin to determination in them that seemed to be in contrast to how the boy’s lips were pressed into a thin line.

He hadn’t said much since his return at all, not when compared to how much he had always talked before. He was silent, oddly so, and Harry hadn’t really known how to react to it. Instead ending up avoiding the avoid the other boy as much as possible, even if just in maintaining eye contact. 

“Imagine how useful that would be,” he said. He sounded slightly cheerful — eager — though just barely so. He looked over the four of them slowly, his eyes eventually stopping on Harry’s.

Harry shifted uncomfortably as he suddenly found himself being gazed at by his fellow Slytherin. He felt his stomach turn. He smiled back, nervously, and ignored the discomfort that the direct eye contact he had been avoiding ever since the other’s return brought. Noticing, however, for the first time the cool dove-like grey of his dorm mate’s eyes.

It was a few seconds before Stebbins turned away to look at Avery again, blinking rapidly in the process. He pursed his lips. “Defence… Imagine all we could learn if we managed to reach that group,” he said. His smile suddenly dropped, “after the events of the last weeks…” Stebbins drifted off.

A slightly uncomfortable silence set in, and Harry didn’t quite dare to break it with the way. Stebbins was looking. He didn’t know what to say, and neither did he have any experience in how to handle a situation like this, a silence like this. It felt heavy and oppressing in a way Harry had never quite realised a silence could be. Absolute.

Mulciber was the one to speak again after an uncomfortable minute.

“I doubt anyone below third year would get accepted, but once we can, let’s try to get accepted into it,” Mulciber said, diffusing the tension. He smiled widely, “I know my father would be proud if I managed to.” 

Avery smiled, though Stebbins’ expression didn’t change. Harry looked away from the other boy, still feeling slightly uncomfortable. Seeing him so heartbroken and changed because of the loss of his father was difficult, and the few words he had overheard him say on his father’s death still rang through Harry’s mind.

_‘It’s just so strange to think of, I… He went with me to the Kings Cross to see me off, you know? It was all so normal, but when I returned back from the funeral it was only my mother. I didn’t appreciate it then, and now—’_

Harry pursed his lips at the thought and looked further away from Stebbins and his dorm mates, instead deciding to focus on the other students in the room.

It was a few minutes until professor Riddle entered the room, robes fluttering behind him as he swept into the classroom. Chatter died down almost immediately as the rhythmic sound of the professor’s footsteps filled the room, his posture showing nothing but a poise and confidence which was only ever consistently seen in him. By the time he stopped walking and had turned around, leaving the blackboard behind him, the crowd of students was completely silent, gazing intently at the Defence professor. 

The Slytherin Head of House pointed his wand at the blackboard, wordlessly casting a spell. A piece of chalk lifted up into the air almost immediately and started writing on the black surface. Within seconds the name of the club — an all-capitalized ‘Defence Club’ — had been written at the very top. Professor Riddle turned to face the group again, and Harry smiled, feeling his excitement grow. It’d be a lie to say he wasn’t curious about whether the practice-intensive club lived up to what people said. Whether it really could push forward what students learnt. 

Professor Riddle’s posture relaxed, and he smiled genially. “Welcome to the first meeting of the Defence Club.” The chalk on the board started writing down list that resembled more a set of paragraphs beneath the capitalized name it had written. Harry glanced away from his Head of House and at the list quickly. It only covered rules and details, by the look of it. 

“For those of you who are attending for the first time, and as those which have attended in previous years know, this club is focused on practicing and learning spells that are not covered in the standard curriculum of Defence Against the Dark Arts,” professor Riddle started explaining. His voice has a smooth and silky undertone that seemed to instantly capture attention, this being reminiscent to how he always seemed to explain topics in Defence classes. 

“As all of you know by now, the standard classes cover all of the basics you will need to know, as per the ministry-mandated curriculum states,” he said. “This club is not intended to give extra practice for the topics covered in classes, but rather, aimed at those of you that want to seek knowledge beyond that which is covered in ordinary classes, that want to deepen your ability in Defence.”

“A wide knowledge in Defence, both of offensive and defensive spells, is amongst the most important skills for a wizard to have in order to survive and resolve situations which could otherwise cause irreparable harm to one,” he continued.

The list on the blackboard behind him suddenly stopped once it reached number seven, and the chalk went on to write details related to dates and other information. “Thus, as it was my intention when first starting this extra curricular activity, it is my intention to allow those who wish to learn more to be able to do so beyond what they would normally be able to, in a safe environment.”

An air of anticipation filled the classroom, and the large group of students seemed almost eerily still as they focused on the Defence teacher. Professor Riddle paused to look at students, and gestured at the blackboard behind him just as the chalk stopped writing. The eyes of the students followed to the words written on the black surface, with none seeming distracted.

“As it is the intention to allow give this opportunity for as many students as possible, you will all be placed in one of three different groups according to your level. One for those of you at a beginner or basic level, another for those at an intermediate one, and a final one for those with advanced knowledge,” he explained. “A fourth group will be available to students in the advanced group wishing to gain an expert knowledge of defence. Details of this, however, will be only given to those of you selected for the advanced group.” 

A few students around Harry nodded, and he briefly looked around the room to see how the reactions to what the professor was saying were. Most of the older years looked confident, seeming knowledgeable and used to what professor Riddle was saying. After quickly looking over the large group, Harry quickly diverted his eyes to Lucius Malfoy, who was still besides Thorfinn Rowle looking completely focused.

“As you can see on the blackboard, sessions will take place once per week. Whether they do during weekends or after classes on weekdays will depend on what group you are selected for,” Professor Riddle continued, gesturing at the area of the blackboard where details on each of the groups had been written.

“Note, however, that attendance through the year is not mandatory — a number of you will likely stop doing so after the first few classes. The first two weeks will therefore serve as an introduction of sorts, so you can know what to expect.”

Professor Riddle stopped talking and smiled. “All of the relevant details to this class are written on the blackboard. Divide into groups of two and try to practice the spells on the board — your group will be given to you based on your performance by the end of the class.”

Words of assent were heard throughout the class, and groups of two were quickly formed. Harry turned towards his dorm mates as students scattered throughout the class, and quickly found himself in front of Severus. From the corner of his eye he saw Mulciber pair with Stebbins and go towards an emptier area of the classroom just as Avery turned towards a girl — Alecto Carrow, second year — whom Harry wasn’t really familiar with. Having just seen her every now and again talking to Avery at the Great Hall or the Common Room.

Severus raised his eyebrows, questioningly, and Harry smiled back. He glanced at the other side of the room as they started walking towards the same area as Mulciber and Stebbins had, by now considerably more devoid of students. Rosier was with another fifth year, still close to where Malfoy stood. The latter, however, had moved further apart with Rowle and closer to where other seventh year Slytherins were. The only exception being the girl Harry recognised as Andromeda Black, who had paired with an older Gryffindor he didn’t recognise instead.

Practice of the spells came easy to both him and Severus, something which was paralleled by Avery, though Harry quickly understood what professor Riddle had meant to achieve with the spells written on the blackboard. The first two were relatively easy to accomplish and quite similar to the those he had seen when reading through the first year textbook. The following ones, however, were considerably more complicated — more so than those he had seen in the books he had picked up at Flourish and Blotts before the start of the year.

By the end of the session it became clear why Avery had mentioned that the intermediate group typically had students over third or fourth year within it — a fact which was quickly confirmed by their Head of House placing him and his dorm mates in the beginner group. He didn’t find himself feeling as dejected as he imagined he would, however, even as he listened to Avery and Mulciber talk about it on their way back to the common room. On the contrary, he was excited — and only Severus seemed to understand exactly why. 

Being in the beginner group wasn’t a failure, he was a first year student with little to no prior knowledge of Defence Against the Dark Arts after all, but an opportunity. Just how many things did he still have to learn and strive for? To prove himself worthy and capable of, besides the divination he had to become acquainted with?

Harry found himself grinning once he entered his dorm room, a fact his friends didn’t comment on as they started talking about what to do the rest of the day.

He glanced at his trunk, feeling a strange excitement course within him, and quickly picked up a few of the books he had gotten at Flourish and Blotts. He’d go to the library and continue reading the book of ancient runes he had been recommended by professor Riddle. Start studying the divination book he had found himself interested in at the store — ‘A Complete Chronicle of the Oracle of Delphi’.

It wasn’t long before Avery and Mulciber decided to head outside into the Hogwarts grounds whilst daylight lasted, with Stebbins decided to remain at their dorm and Severus joining Harry at the library.

The library was as crowded as one could expect in a Saturday, with most of the tables seemed oddly empty. They sat close to the back, away from more crowded forefront. Harry opened his book on ancient runes as Severus took one of his own — on potions, as it turned out — and quickly found himself absorbed by the content.

 

* * *

 

 

The rows of bookshelves towered around the desk Harry and Severus were sitting at, imposing and strangely beautiful. They were sitting on one of the desks closer to the back of the massive room, with rows and rows of leather-bound books sat atop the nearly maze-like bookshelves around them. Surrounding their workspace in such a way that the entrance to the library was impossible to be seen. 

Harry was sitting on the chair opposite Severus’ — still was, after so many hours —, his hands holding the relatively unfamiliar copy of ‘A Complete Chronicle of the Oracle of Delphi’. In front of him, Severus was reading a book on potions more advanced than the topics they were currently covering with Slughorn. Far ahead enough that Harry hadn’t heard about the topics covered in the book, let alone understand them. 

They had ended up spending much of the rest of the day at the library, going so far as to return after having lunch and dinner at the Great Hall. Ending up finishing all of the essays they had been set as homework and doing some reading of their own afterwards. Harry had managed to finish a potions paper he hadn’t quite managed to start, doing so quicker than usual thanks to some help from Severus. Later advancing enough with the ancient runes book to make up for the sheer lack of progress he had had during the weeks before. 

Over last hours, however, he had ended up being completely immersed in ‘A Complete Chronicle of the Oracle of Delphi’, much to the surprise of Severus. It was fascinating, far more interesting than what Harry had thought. Refreshingly different. 

Harry could remember how the book looked and its topic despite months having already gone by since buying it at Flourish and Blotts, though the knowledge hadn’t made the brown leather of its cover any more familiar. He hadn’t opened it once. It had seemed interesting, back then — it still did. Its interest had paled in comparison to everything else, however. Other subjects seemed more important to get ahead of and learn — they were still covering theory that seemed of importance in Transfigurations and sometimes Charms — and Harry didn’t want to fall behind. 

Other areas of divination had seemed more important, too. They always had, at least whenever Harry’s parents asked what he had learnt. He needed to study palmistry and reading cards more, and there were entire areas of divination he still didn’t really know about. Tea leaves remained a mystery, and Harry just barely knew the basics about face reading. Never mind Chinese fortune sticks, which were as unknown to him as anything could be. Then had come research into scrying, more particularly water scrying — water scrying — and all the difficulties that had come with learning just _how_ to practice it. How to build and ensure one had the correct surface to allow one to _see_ in the water, much like one had to when reading fire-omens. 

How could a book on an ancient oracle hope to even compare in importance against such things?

Despite it all, he now couldn’t say why he had thought it wasn’t important as the other divination topics he had read about. 

The book was as clear as could be, and judging by the table of contents provided a full retelling of the history of the Oracle of Delphos and its methods of divination and structure. It held a full collection of all of the prophecies it had ever given, as well as information on the language used to both ask the high priestess — the _pythia._ Going further to even give an introduction to divination in ancient Greece, its importance even in the eyes of even muggles, muggle legends related to them, and accounts on how seers at the time were to behave. 

The high priestess at the Oracle of Delphi, its main seer, had used a laurel to give oracles for the future, divination through the rustling of the leaves. Throughout the centuries it had operated it had held immense importance for even muggle rulers, who often consulted it, and played an immense important part in the response to events like invasions. Eventually giving rise to muggle legends about _where_ sibyls and seers came from — with muggle writer Pausanias claiming that they were _‘born between man and goddess, daughter of sea monsters and an immortal nymph’_. 

The fact that muggles had legends about seers spoke volumes about their importance. The stories about how great a things they had been able to see and help prevent, in some cases, seemed nearly impossible when comparing them to how divination and seers were seen nowadays. Harry had never heard of feats like that from seers before, or even of some of the divination techniques that the book described. The Oracle had been able to truly give counsel that could not fail, as well as give answers to those that came to ask it about problems.

It was awe-inspiring, and had been enough to set his heart racing in a way in which it never had since discovering his dream about Abraxas Malfoy had, in fact, been a vision. 

Harry turned the page, smiling when he was saw a copy of a moving painting similar to the image Charlus and Dorea had sent him in their letter. A woman holding a branch of laurel was depicted in it, dressed in expensive-looking red robes and sitting on a tripod with vapor rising form a crack in the earth beneath her. The chapter was long, detailing the procedure that the Oracle of Pythia had followed to receive people who wanted to ask questions. Something far more complicated and detailed than what he had seen in more modern books on divination, or what he had been taught at the Potter manor. 

The chapter eventually morphing into a debate on the _language_ employed by the seers — the Pythia of the Oracle of Delphos — in order to communicate to people. It was something that Harry had never really thought about, besides the question of who tell about the things he saw. 

How did one communicate things in a way that helped people overcome a future unknown problem? 

It was enough to set his mind racing with possibilities and further questions, and reminded him of the Icarus story professor Riddle had told him about. It seemed important as well as slightly complicated. Worth studying, if he wanted to help people. It wasn’t just the fact that Daedalus told Icarus _about_ not flying too high or low, but also _how_ he went about explaining it to him. The language a seer used, the way he described things, had an impact on what the person who had asked for advice did. It could both influence him to commit to a self-fulfilling prophecy or overcome his problem. 

Things, however, got slightly more complicated when touching on the topic of whether _saying something at all_ was good, as well as when touching on the topic of counsel given in addition to the prophecy. Definite methods in which to overcome the problem. Problems didn’t end there, however, as this all was something debated in current divination books and in theory. 

It was interesting. More than he could have imagined about a subject such as divination. To think that there was more about it than just looking into crystal-gazing and reading people’s palms… The subject was full of a rich history that Harry had never known through the course-selected books he had found at Flourish and Blotts that day. 

“Harry, Severus! I didn’t know if I’d find you here today, after the Defence Club meeting.”

Harry looked up and at the cheery voice from his left as he saw Severus do the same, instantly recognizing the girl that had gotten close to their table. Lily Evans, grinning as she held what looked like three herbology textbooks.

Severus smiled. “Lily,” he said. His tone of voice sounded deceptively stoic and monotone, something which Harry had only learnt to see through over the last weeks. He could tell by the way his friend was looking at the red-haired girl and the way his face had lit up that he was happy to see her — immensely. “Are you coming to study?”

Lily shook her head, though her grin remained firmly in place. “Oh, no, I just came into the library a few minutes ago. I wanted to check out some books for a herbology essay we need to hand in,” she explained. “I was about to head back to the Gryffindor common room, but since I saw both of you sitting here I thought I’d at least say hi, since I didn’t get a chance to today.”

Harry smiled at her comment. Lily looked relaxed and happy, much like she always seemed to be. Alive, cheery, and joyful in a way Harry wasn’t sure he had ever been before to such an extent. 

“What did you both think about the Defence Club?” she suddenly asked. “I kept hearing from older Gryffindor students that it is quite useful, so I was really interested in seeing how it really was…”

She suddenly stopped in the middle of her sentence as she looked at the open book in front of Harry, seemingly recognizing the moving photograph in front of the pages Harry had been reading. 

Lily’s eyes widened. “That book, is it about Delphi?” she suddenly asked, sounding curious. She leaned towards the desk and turned the book towards her.

Harry frowned, slightly surprised, but quickly nodded. “The Oracle of Delphi,” he explained. 

“So it is delphi!" she exclaimed, pausing only a moment later. "Sorry, I’m being rude,” she said, taking a step back and smiling apologetically. “I was just really surprised to see a book on…” she muttered.

Harry looked at her, feeling surprised. “You know about the oracle?” he asked. 

“You know about the oracle?”

Lily shook her head. “No, or well, not really. I know a bit about Greek mythology, since I used to be very interested in it, but nothing that’s really…” she started saying. “Well, I didn’t know there were, you know, _magical_ books on it. I assumed it was all just mythology.”

Severus replied before Harry had the chance to. “Muggle legends are a bit… off, I think. But you can find books on it.”

Lily’s eyes widened immediately. She grinned, “really? That’s amazing!” She sounded excited, far more so when Harry had first heard about things like it. He had thought it interesting, but… “How come you’re interested in it, Harry?” she asked, “it isn’t anything that we’d have to study until later, is it?”

Harry shook his head. “No, it’s just something I got an interest in recently. My great aunt and uncle are visiting Greece at the moment, and they sent me a picture of it. A copy of a painting,” he explained. 

It was true enough, he supposed. He wasn’t used to people asking about why he read things like these, he had long since gotten used to his family knowing and accepting his gift. Though even if interest in divination _was_ fairly commonplace, he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. He knew the consequences well enough from all the times his parents had told him about them. He could still remember the words his mother had told him at King’s Cross, as well as those she often repeated in her letters to him — _‘you know you must be careful, Harry. If someone knew—’_

“Did they actually see the future and help people?” she asked excitedly. “To think something like that could…”

She was beaming, and Harry couldn’t help to imagine what Avery’s reaction would have been to a sudden question like that. Nothing pretty, that was for sure. The brown-haired Slytherin had been enjoyable to be around and helpful to him after what had happened to Rosier, but when it came to…

“They did, though there is much more to the oracle than just that” he said matter-of-factly, not quite knowing what to say or start from. He hadn’t finished the book quite yet, and he couldn’t say he was an expert from just reading one book. 

Lily kept her eyes fixated on him, following his words attentively. 

 It wasn’t long, however, before the three of them seemed to realise the likely late hour, and quickly set to packing the books they had brought to the library as Lily waited for them besides the table.

“Sorry if I held you back,” she said with a kind smile. 

Snape immediately shook his head, “no, don’t worry.” He looked back down at the books he had been reading and some others he had decided to take out.  “We didn’t see each other rat all recently, perhaps we could study at the library together tomorrow?” he said. 

Lily smiled, and Harry was suddenly reminded of how close the two had seemed to be when he had met them at the boats before the sorting took place. “Of course,” she said.

The three of them walked out of the library together, with Harry walking slightly behind the other two as they got into a conversation he couldn’t quite follow. They broke apart soon after leaving the library — the Slytherin and Gryffindor common rooms likely being on practically opposite ends of the castle — and Harry started making his way to the dungeons with Severus, comfortable silence settling around them.

It didn’t take them very long to reach the bottom floor of the castle. It was nearly empty, most likely because of the late hour. It wasn’t long before the bare-looking wall concealing the entrance to the Slytherin common room was in view. In contrast to the devoid look the area around the entrance presented, the common room within couldn’t present a more different image. 

All four of the fireplaces were lit, something which had quickly started becoming somewhat of a necessity as winter grew closer. The reds and yellows of the fires blended in with the toned silvers, greens, and blacks of the rest of the room, enveloping all of the students within the room in an atmosphere oddly full of comfort and warmth. The dark colours of the waters of the lake shone through the windows, and though no schools of fish could be seen swimming around them, allowing instead a fully clear view of the merpeople’s village.

The common room was filled with students of every year, with most groups gathering close to the lit fireplaces. The sound and buzz of lighthearted conversation filled the air, giving an impression of a liveliness that wasn’t all that common to see. 

Harry had barely started to focus on the many different people sitting around the common room before Severus spotted two of their dorm mates — Avery and Mulciber — around one of the many small tables on the left side of the room. Both seemed to be quite concentrated on a polished-looking checkered board, placed on the table between them. The pieces looked distinctive, and Harry found himself recognizing the game immediately despite never having played it before. Wizarding chess — something he had only ever seen his great uncle Charlus play on a few occasions, most often against his father. Stebbins was nowhere to be seen, however.

Severus started making his way towards the two other boys, and Harry quickly decided to follow. It didn’t take them long to reach the table around which the two boys were sitting at. 

Mulciber was the first of the two to look up at them. “Harry, Severus,” he greeted. “Finally back from the library?”

Severus nodded, and focused on the board between the two of them before sitting down on one of the vacant seats around the table. Harry followed suit, placing the book of bags he had carried to the library on the floor.

The game looked quite advanced — quite a number of pieces were scattered on the sides — though there seemed to be more black pieces on the board. Despite their numerical superiority, however, Avery seemed to be silently focusing on two white pieces which looked too close to his king. 

Severus observed the board for a few seconds more. “It seems like the game is quite tense,” he finally said.

Harry looked at the board, attempting to register what his dorm mates was talking, but not quite managing to with what little he knew about the game. He hadn’t really had the chance to play the game before, and James had never been interested. 

“You could say that,” Mulciber said. He quickly looked back at the board, and focused on the right corner of Avery’s side. “I think I’m doing better, though. I’ll probably win in a few turns.”

Avery smiled and glanced up at Mulciber. “You most likely will. Those two rooks are making things difficult. I should have placed my pieces more offensively before.”

Harry smiled, and looked back at board. It seemed like an interesting game, quite different from the other things he had played before. A few seconds went by, and, just like Avery had said, Mulciber had soon checkmated his king. 

“Would either of you care for a game afterwards? I’ve already played against Alden a few times, and I’ll admit to being quite tired,” Mulciber said. “I could play for hours, but since Monday will be coming soon, I probably should start with the Charms paper we need to hand in.”

Severus hummed noncommittally, making it clear quickly that he wasn’t interested in playing a game, and Mulciber’s eyes immediately focused on Harry. 

“Harry?” he asked.

Harry quickly shook his head. “I’m not sure if I should, I’ve never played wizarding chess before.”

This seemed to grab the attention of the other three rather quickly, and Harry quickly found himself in Mulciber’s place. 

“Do you know how the pieces move?” Avery asked. Harry shook his head, and the boys was quickly prompted to explain the rules. 

It didn’t take Harry long to realise he was terrible at the game. His first game ended quickly — Avery took advantage of one of the first pawns Harry had moved, and used it to checkmate him with his queen after only a few turns. The second game went much in the same way, as did the third, and it was only once they were on their fourth game that Harry found himself playing a tenser and longer game. By the time he reached the fifth, he started to understand what the main basic ways of approaching the game were. 

“I think I understand now,” he started saying, once he was checkmated by Avery once again. It hadn’t been a loss as quick as the first few, however, and he found himself feeling proud of how much he had managed to last. “I was keeping too many of my pieces behind the pawns, and barely took any central control. I should have moved more of them forwards to take control of the board and both defend myself and attack.”

Mulciber very nearly grinned at Harry’s words.

“That’s exactly it,” the Slytherin said. He seemed surprised, even somewhat proud. “You must remember, Harry, that a piece that isn’t in use might as well be already dead, and if you don’t take control of the board your opponent will be the one to do so.”

It was after only one game more, and once the common room had started to empty of younger students, that Harry decided to return to the dorm room in order to continue reading the ancient runes book he had been studying earlier on. It was empty, with Stebbins nowhere in sight, and Harry quickly made his way to his bed, bag of books held tightly in his hands.

 

* * *

 

 _The strange and familiar white train station gave way to the more familiar grounds of Hogwarts quicker than Harry managed to fully grasp, and by the time he realised he was dreaming, there was only the familiar green of the fields surrounding Hogwarts._

_Harry blinked as he surveyed the area around him in the dream. The day was bright — too bright — with barely a cloud in the sky. A buzz of something filled the air with an energy Harry still hadn’t seen on the outside of Hogwarts, and lush green covered all he could see._

_He had never dreamt of Hogwarts in one of his dreams before._

_The thick smell of flowers filled the air, mixing with the somewhat heavy humidity of the black lake in a way that saturated the air and breeze all around with too many smells. The sun hung high in the sky, illuminating the area with more light than what Harry had quickly grown used to over the previous weeks._

_A tall and thick tree, a willow, sat atop the hill in front of Harry. Its branches were twisted, curved at odd angles that were barely hidden by the thin leaves growing on the tree’s branches. They looked odd against the tree’s thick trunk. Strange. Too thin for the height of the tree, too bare to seem natural._

_Harry immediately recognised it, though mostly from the stories he had heard from other students. It was the strange and violent tree which had been planted that very year, the rare plant that Dumbledore had barely made a mention to at the beginning of the year — the Whomping Willow. Rare plants, from what he remembered, and the only that hit humans back whenever they got too near._

_Nothing grew around the tree or even got close to it with good, and despite the sunny day nothing seemed to be around him._

_Harry stood still, wondering what he was meant to see or notice as only silence settled around him. Only distant laughs and chatter could be heard, carried over by the breeze, making the area seem unnatural in its stillness despite the plentiful green and life that was the Hogwarts grounds._

_It was a few minutes until voices grew near, joyous and carefree, and Harry found himself immediately focusing on the approaching group of students. The voices grew louder as they approached the hill on which the Whomping Willow sat and came into sight. Harry’s eyes widened. He could recognise them._

_It was a group of five first year students, a mixture of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. Though he could recognise them from classes, he didn’t know most of their names. The names of the two girls, a Ravenclaw and a Hufflepuff, escaped him, and he couldn’t remember neither the name or surname of another boy. Only two were familiar; Harry knew that the tall blond near the front was called Adrian, and the other he could distinctively remember from the first Defence Club session they had had that very day. Close-set eyes, dark hair, and heavy eyebrows — the boy was Davey Gudgeon, the boisterous boy Avery had quickly taken to disliking after that morning._

_“I don’t think you’ll dare, Davey,” the blond boy, Adrian, said. He grinned._

_The boy Harry didn’t recognise laughed, and one of the girls immediately jumped in, following the comment the blond boy had said. “You talk big, Gudgeon, but I know you wouldn’t dare to touch the Whomping Willow. You’re just jealous of that Gryffindor — Sirius Black.”_

_Gudgeon immediately flustered at the comment, and protested loudly. “Of course I will! Why would I be the first to do so anyways, I’m not like those Gryffindors.”_

_The girl that had just spoken smiled teasingly, as the other observed them with a smile._

_“Admit it — you just wish you could have been the first to touch the Whomping Willow’s trunk, like that Potter did,” the boy Harry didn’t recognize said. He smiled wryly, “quite cowardly too, considering you kept daring Cresswell to do it.”_

_Adrian smirked, “cowardly of Cresswell, you mean.” He turned towards Gudgeon. “You should have insisted and brought him with us, Davey. He…”_

_“You know how he is, obsessing over Goblins and their culture. He didn’t want to come, and since he was at the library…”_

_The boy laughed, and the others quickly followed suit. They had almost reached the Whomping Willow, and with it the position Harry had found himself appearing at in the dream. By the time they reached the tree they were standing right besides Harry. The tree looked oddly imposing as its branches shifted with the wind and moved, thin leaves rustling quietly._

_The girl that hadn’t spoken yet, now standing to a side, smiled shyly.“I think you’d be able to, Gudgeon,” she said._

_Gudgeon looked at her briefly and smiled. “I did say I could,” he announced. He turned at the others and grinned. “I’ll do it, you’ll see! I’ll touch the trunk!”_

_Adrian smiled daringly. “Will you?” he asked._

_“Of course, Adrian! You’ll regret your words, and then you’ll have to touch it too,” Gudgeon exclaimed._

_Gudgeon suddenly turned to face the Whomping Willow and started walking towards it. The other first years remained silent, too curious to say anything._

_Harry found himself watching with a similar type of fascination, not quite knowing what to expect. What was going to happen? He had never had a dream like this before, nothing seemingly as benign. What was this about?_

_Gudgeon stopped walking once he was barely a meter away from the tall tree. The wind picked up, and he gulped loudly just as the branches started moving again._

_“Come on, Davey!”_

_Gudgeon glanced back at his friends briefly, before turning again towards the Whomping Willow. He clenched his fists and shut his eyes, before taking a deep breath in. A few seconds went by before he opened them again._

_He grinned. “You’ll see, Adrian!” he exclaimed, and with that the Ravenclaw boy lunged forwards._

_The reaction from the tree was immediate. A loud creak filled the air as the the trunk twisted on itself, the branches following its path. Gudgeon kept running forwards, nearly reaching the tree’s trunk when it suddenly came to a stop. Gudgeon pressed on._

_The trunk twisted again, and an even louder creak, filled the air. The tree flung its branches violently, seemingly attempting to bludgeon the first year. Gudgeon grinned as he almost reached the tree’s bark, and—_

_A loud crack filled the air as the branches smashed Gudgeon’s torso. Shattered bone protruded from the boy’s ribcage as he was hurled towards the ground. Another louder crack followed as a branch quickly smashed against his head, managing to hit the same area twice more before the body was hurled away from the tree. Landing with a loud thud away from both Harry and the group of first years._

_Gudgeon’s spine was bent at an odd angle. Blood seeped onto the grass, and something white was breaking through some areas of skin. The first years screamed. The Whomping Willow stopped moving._

_“Quick! Get someone, anyone!” one of the girls shouted._

_Adrian started running towards the castle. “Help! Someone, we need help!”_

_Harry fell onto his knees. Davey Gudgeon wasn’t moving._

 

* * *

 

“Mr. Potter, if you could stay behind, please?” came the calm voice of the defense professor.

Harry’s eyes shot up to the front of the class and to the familiar figure of professor Riddle. The Gryffindors and Slytherins around him were already packing their things. The Defence Against the Dark Arts class had clearly just ended, and students were already packing their things. Harry’s eyes widened, he hadn’t noticed it at all. Just how much had he missed?

The week had passed in a daze, with days seeming to blend in with each other as more distance was put between Harry and the dream. His stomach tying in knots every time he had thought about the game, the blood, and the tree. He had sent a letter to Dumbledore almost immediately afterwards, as well as to his parents and family, making sure to include within it as many of the dream’s details as he could remember. He had received a response, even. An assurance by the headmaster that he’d do everything in his power to stop the events from happening.

It didn’t take long for Harry to realise that it hadn’t calmed him at all. The odd angle Gudgeon’s body had been bent at was too imprinted and too recent in his mind, flashing through his mind every time he so much as glanced at the Ravenclaw or at the Whomping Willow. Made worse by memories of the burning rice fields and muggle cottages in other dreams, and in turn by the strange silence of Stebbins. That, though better than when he had first returned, was a complete change from how he had seemed at the beginning of the year. A certain sadness seemed to surround the Slytherin everywhere he went, burying within it the easygoing nature Harry remembered from the first weeks at Hogwarts.

That he hadn’t managed to talk to James about it once since Saturday hadn’t helped whatsoever.

His twin had been strangely distant, though most likely by accident. Too used to life in Gryffindor and his two — or three, considering how Remus Lupin had started eating and hanging out with them — friends for Harry to be able to catch him _alone_. Too joyous to notice the horrible feeling that had taken home in Harry’s stomach. There wasn’t a single moment James spent away from his friends, and how could Harry then tell him what was wrong? How could he talk to him like they had before September, before Hogwarts, if he wasn’t paying attention?

_How?_

Harry’s dorm mates had noticed immediately, however, and though none had pressed him about it after the first day Harry couldn’t help but wonder what they thought about the strange dazed mood he had found himself in. About the way he had awakened with a scream after the dream, and his immediate change of behavior. 

The only things Harry had been able to think of were the imprinted images he remembered from the dream, along with the conflicting advice he had read and been given. That he shouldn’t say anything and that Dumbledore, or his parents, would take care of it and stop it. Conflicting, then, with the bad result that had come with only trusting the headmaster when he had seen the death of his dorm mate’s father, what he had learnt about the Oracle of Pythia, and the story professor Riddle had told him.

He felt blocked. Weighed down by the knowledge that, at the end of the day, it was _his_ responsibility. That alone had made Harry barely able to concentrate in any of his classwork.

It took Harry a few seconds to realise that the remaining students in the class had all turned towards Harry and his twin, still in the room despite his speed at packing. James, at the other side of the room, had turned to face professor Riddle, looking both surprised and strangely outraged.

What _did_ he think about their defence professor?

“Mr. Harry Potter,” professor Riddle specified once he saw both twins look at him. He seemed to be scrutinizing the room with hard eyes and some sort of nearly-concealed intensity. His expression was neutral, demeanour confident as he leaned against one of the walls at the front of the class. He had his arms crossed in a way that made him seem relaxed and oddly graceful.

Harry gulped, feeling himself worry. An uncomfortable feeling set into his stomach just as he felt his dorm mates turn to look at him with curiosity. James turned towards him with a look of worry, and offered a sympathetic smile.

Mulciber was frowning. “What could professor Riddle want?” he said with a carefully controlled voice.

Harry glanced at his dorm mates briefly. Snape was looking at Harry with a somewhat questioning gaze, though didn’t seem worried, and Avery seemed as collected and calm as could be. Stebbins, meanwhile, was looking at him with a distinctive lack of expression.

“It’s probably nothing to worry about, Harry,” Severus said, after a few seconds.

Avery nodded, and offered a sympathetic, though controlled, smile. “I’d imagine it is something related to class. If it was serious you wouldn’t be told about it in class.”

Harry nodded before darting his eyes back to the lean figure of professor Riddle. “You’re right,” he muttered. He was surprised, he hadn’t been told to stay behind by a teacher yet.

His dorm mates started packing their books, and Harry glanced at his own unassorted ones, still lying on the desk. “Go on without me, I’ll see you at Transfiguration.”

Severus, Avery, and Mulciber nodded, and quickly made way to leave the room, Stebbins following close behind. Harry packed his books and turned towards the front of the class, starting to walk towards his professor quickly afterwards.

“Sir?” Harry asked, feeling nervous. “Is something wrong?”

Professor Riddle stood up and away from the wall, uncrossing his arms and gazing at Harry with a somewhat softer expression. The man pursed his lips briefly before smiling in a way that seemed somewhat genial and reassuring. His overall posture didn’t change at all, however, and instead seemed to only grow in confidence and gracefulness. 

Harry glanced up and met the dark brown of the professor’s eyes. It was the same colour he had seen at Flourish and Blotts, with no sign of the strange red glint he remembered noticing. A few seconds went by before Harry broke the eye contact, not quite feeling comfortable with its length.

“There is no need to worry, Mr. Potter. You’ve done nothing to merit any sort of disciplinary action,” professor Riddle said, reassuring Harry. “No, it’s quite a different matter altogether. I’ve noticed, as have some of your other professors, that you’ve been distracted throughout most of your classes this week.”

Harry oh’d and nodded. Had he been distracted enough that his teachers had noticed? “I’m sorry, Sir. I hadn’t noticed… Well…” he muttered. He didn’t know what to say. 

“Enough, at least, when considering the high standard of work you’ve maintained so far this year, Mr. Potter.,” he continued. “Professors McGonnagal and Flitwick expressed concerns during a meeting of staff yesterday, saying that you seemed somewhat distracted and dejected.” 

Professor Riddle smiled reassuringly. “As you’ve seemed similarly distracted during today’s class, Mr. Potter, I wanted to ask whether there has been anything affecting you,” he said. “As it is my duty as your Head of House to help you with any such things affecting students in Slytherin.”

Harry looked down, not quite knowing what to say. He knew he had been out of it throughout most of the week, though not enough to warrant attention from his teachers. He couldn’t tell the Defence professor the real reason for his worries, and—

“It’s been… nothing, sir,” he muttered, not quite sure what to say. “Nothing serious, I mean.” 

Professor Riddle frowned, eyes narrowing. “Serious enough to change the productivity in your classes and the quality of your work, Mr. Potter,” he said. He hadn’t believed him. 

Harry pressed his lips together, what should he say? He couldn’t tell his Head of House the truth, or anything about the dream. His parents had made that perfectly clear, and he still didn’t know enough about the professor to make a decision about him. He had helped him before, but…

A half-truth, then, like the one he had used after meeting professor Dumbledore at his office when asking him about his dream.

“It’s nothing serious, Sir.” Harry started saying, before pausing to think. He looked down. What would be the best thing to say in order to explain his problem, without saying anything about his dream?

Professor Riddle looked at him expectantly.

“I think I know that something bad is going to happen to my brother; but I’m not sure whether I should tell him about it, or whether telling him would do any good,” Harry explained. “I don’t know what to do, and it’s been distracting me all week.”

The Defence professor gazed at Harry in silence for a few seconds before his expression softened. “I imagine this is related to what you asked me a few weeks back near Headmaster Dumbledore’s office?” he asked. “Whether one could be guilty by virtue of not warning another?” 

Harry nodded, and looked at the eyes of his Head of House again. “I’m the only one that knows, Sir. I understand what you told me then — that I should help if I thought it would be of help, though that it ultimately didn’t make me guilty if I chose to withheld it — though I still want to help.”

Harry averted his gaze again quickly, and moved his hands into the pockets of his Hogwarts uniform before he had the chance to fidget. The question was good enough. He thought it was, at least, probably, though he didn’t like having to ask about things in such a roundabout way.

Professor Riddle seemed to pause to think. “I take the problem lies in that telling your brother of the problem would have negative consequence in itself?” he asked.

Harry nodded again. “Yes, it would… Well, he would get angry at me, most likely.”

“Well, Mr. Potter. If it’s something really serious you should go to the faculty or your parents and warn them. Though if it’s something that’s between the both of you and you wish to help him, why not warn him after all?” he explained. His voice was calm, and Harry felt himself relax at the confidence with which the professor spoke. 

“He could get angry at me for saying it and trying to help, for—” Harry muttered.

“Regardless, Mr. Potter. The advice we get from others, no matter how strange, is sometimes the only way for us to avoid something bad from happening.”

“What if he didn’t believe me, though, Sir? If my advice did nothing?” Harry asked. He could send Gudgeon a letter, or try to inadvertently warn him away from the Whomping Willow, but would that have any effect? He wanted to help, but he couldn’t do so in a way that revealed what he was, and even then— 

“I stand by what I said then, Mr. Potter. A warning could always be ineffective, but there is no way to tell how things might go. Sometimes it is best to give it regardless, lest not doing so does more evil.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat. Perhaps…?

Professor Riddle stopped to gaze at Harry for a few seconds whilst he observed him. He smiled. “You remind me of a poem, Mr. Potter. One written by Michelangelo, the Italian sculptor, though it is not widely known.”

Harry frowned. He had never heard about any Italian artists of any time, let alone read any poetry or literature.

“He was a muggle who lived during the Renaissance, perhaps amongst the most acclaimed muggle artists of all time,” professor Riddle explained, admiration making its way to the man’s voice and eyes. “It was written as accompaniment to a statue he had previously made. As criticism for Cosimo the first de Medici, the ruler that ruled the city of Florence at the time. Though more particularly of his governance. Do you know what it says?” 

Harry shook his head, and professor Riddle smiled. He turned towards the teacher’s desk and quickly looked through his papers, only stopping once he had grabbed hold of a particular black notebook, all covered in leather. He opened it and quickly looked through its pages, stopping once he had reached the notebook’s middle.

“Like I said, it was written as accompaniment to a statue Michelangelo himself made, one at the tomb of one of the Duke’s own ancestors,” the Slytherin Head of House continued, approaching his principal topic. “The poem is worth thinking of in relation to the statue’s stone.” 

Harry observed him with curiosity, not quite knowing what to expect, and professor focused on the text in front of him.

“My sleep is dear to me, and more dear this being of stone, as long as the agony and shame last,” he read aloud, using the voice he often used to explain something in class.

The words sounded delicate and fascinating all at once with the man’s charismatic voice, and Harry found himself clinging to each and every one of the words read.

It wasn’t long before he continued. “Not to see, not to hear is for me the best fortune. So do not wake me! Speak softly.”

Harry frowned as soon as the Defence professor finished talking, missing the enigmatic-sounding words.

Professor Riddle closed the black notebook and placed it atop his desk again. “Do you know what it means, Mr. Potter?” he asked. 

Harry’s frown deepened for a second, keeping his eyes focused on the floor as he thought about the poem the professor had read aloud. Could it… Ah! 

Harry’s eyes widened and dashed back up meet those of his professor. “The Duke was like stone,” Harry said, half in awe. “He didn’t see or listen to the problems of the city. That artist… Michelangelo, criticized him for ignoring the problems of the land and his people. For choosing to sleep.” 

Professor Riddle’s smile broadened, and Harry couldn’t avoid the feeling of pride that filled him.

“Exactly, Mr. Potter,” he said, nodding, “and sometimes the worse one can do, when they know of problems around, is choosing to be like stone. Ignoring the agony and shame for the sake of restful sleep.” 

It wasn’t until later on that day, after dinner, that he found his brother waiting for him outside of the Great Hall. A stream of students kept going in and out of the massive room, drowning the air with the sound of chatter and laughs that accompanied beautifully the smell of food in the air. 

“Harry, it’s just… Could I talk to you?” James asked. He was clenching his hands in a way that spoke of determination. Frowning, however, with a distinct look of barely-concealed worry. “What did professor Riddle want to tell you? Is something wrong?” 

When Harry received a reply from Charlus the very next morning, he was surprised to see the mixture of worried advice and support within it.

_‘Do what you mean to do, Harry.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for all the support and encouragement! The next chapter will reach the Christmas period and (likely) use a different POV to reveal more of what's going on behind the scenes, since there are a few things I probably won't by just writing Harry. In around five more the end of part 1 will finally come about, and the story will jump forwards a few years.
> 
>    
> The poem referenced was written by Michelangelo in relation to the sculpture 'Night', in 1545-46. The original is the following:
> 
> _Caro m'è 'l sonno, e più l'esser di sasso,_  
>  _mentre che 'l danno e la vergogna dura;_  
>  _non veder, non sentir m'è gran ventura;_  
>  _però non mi destar, deh, parla basso._
> 
> _(My sleep is dear to me, and more dear this being of stone,_  
>  _as long as the agony and shame last._  
>  _Not to see, not to hear [or feel] is for me the best fortune.;_  
>  _So do not wake me! Speak softly.)_
> 
> __  
> **Edited: 5 August 2017**  
> 


	11. Chapter 11

“We’re disappointed, Harry.”

Harry deflated, the harsh monotone of Euphemia Potter’s voice stinging more than he had imagined it would. He looked down, avoiding the harshness of his parent’s eyes by focusing on the grey-coloured floor of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

It was hard to imagine just how quickly the first term at Hogwarts had gone by, despite the more unpleasant things it had brought with it. Time had flown by after the routine of classes had settled in, with days going by at a speed that had only really stood out once the first days of December had rolled by.

Steam billowed in the air all around him, doing little to disguise the bitter and cold air dusk had brought alongside it even as it kept being let out by the Hogwarts Express. Barely any light was let through the station’s glass ceiling, giving the platform a gloomy and dark look that didn’t truly fit with the time. James stood at a distance, barely visible through the thick-looking puffs of steam that covered most of the station, unaware of Harry’s turmoil as he stood with his three Gryffindor friends.

It had been two weeks since Harry’s attempt to warn Gudgeon of the Whomping Willow.

The warning, cleverly delivered with an anonymous letter, had backfired spectacularly. It had quickly gotten turned into a joke despite Harry’s best efforts. Humiliatingly, when paired with how his twin’s reaction had been upon learning about the letter, and altogether made tougher by the clear disappointment his parents had shown via letter and which was now clearly visible in their eyes.

The Yule holidays seemed to promise nothing but unpleasantness now, however; a feeling Severus seemed to mirror to a degree. Anxiousness set in quickly after the letter. Swiftly turning into a nearly overbearing sense of foreboding that felt nothing but nauseous whenever Harry considered the possibility of what might very well happen. Classes had kept going on regardless to the still-too-vivid image of Gudgeon’s unmoving body and the accompanying dilemma that it brought. The choice Harry really faced and the horrible feeling that had wounded up settling in his stomach.

It hadn’t taken long for Harry to start researching divination theory more than he ever had before, and by the time December had come by the subject had taken over other extracurricular reading. What should be included and constitute a proper warning? How did a seer or a practicer of divination give it to others? Did knowledge of the circumstances surrounding the event matter?

The nature of warnings, though barely consistent and varying from seer to seer, was consistent in one thing only. An oracle that was akin to stone, that didn’t help those who sought advice, was of no use as an oracle: thus went the biggest theories in divination. The idea that knowledge that wasn’t acted upon or considered, not even thought about by the seer, might as well be nonexistant. The nature of warnings, however, was something more contested in books on divination. More so than Harry had previously come to believe.

Light steps, sounding quick and decisive, sounded from behind him, and the familiar figure that was James quickly stood besides Harry.

Harry took in deep breaths as he looked back up, sweating slightly despite the cold. He knew what his parents were going to tell him, and he didn’t want to so much as really consider it. Not after the things he had seen, and not when he knew the damage he had the chance to prevent, to _stop_. Stebbins father had wound up dying, though he didn’t know exactly how, and if he could prevent the _crack_ he had heard in his dream from ever sounding…

“Mum? Dad? Sorry I took so long; Sirius, Peter, and Remus were there, and—”

Harry turned towards his twin, deliberately avoiding his parents eyes. James looked happy and tranquil — relaxed. Oblivious to Harry’s inner turmoil and the knowledge of the sight that Davey Gudgeon had been in his dream. The steam billowing started to clear, and Harry saw Euphemia Potter offer her husband a gentle smile from the corner of his eyes. James grinned, and Fleamont Potter’s eyes softened somewhat.

“Congratulations on making Gryffindor, James. We’re both very proud,” Fleamont said, smiling together with Euphemia. James grinned. It was a few moments before Euphemia seemed to notice the dwindling crowd on the platform.

“Let’s go home then, sweetie,” his mothered offered kindly. “It’s cold, and you’re both probably tired.”

James’ grin widened immediately, and he quickly started asking questions about what their parents had planned for Yule. About whether any visits to Diagon Alley would be planned and if they’d be meeting Charlus and Dorea over the holidays.

Harry looked back down at the bland-looking floor as his twin raced on and on, still somewhat nauseous. His parents expressions still had a somewhat hard edge to them despite their gentle smiles, with a hint of fear he had only learnt to recognize thanks to Avery. He knew what they would tell him when they arrived to the Potter manor, what they would ask.

“Harry? We’re going home now.”

Harry looked up at his father, still in a daze. They had started moving towards one of the fireplaces at the far side of the station — they’d be returning home through the floo network.

He gulped and rushed forwards instinctively, holding tighter to his trunk and the cage containing Hedwig.

 

* * *

 

“You must understand, Harry, surely, what you did wrong?” His mother’s voice was harsh, cutting. Her tone of voice was deceptively low, the extent of her anger and disappointment only obvious in the tenseness of her slips and the clenched fists at her side. 

Harry flinched and looked down, trying to focus on the silk-wool Persian carpet that covered the mahogany floor of the Potter manor’s main living room.

It was a beautiful piece, with various geometric patterns depicted on a background of dark blue. A golden medallion was depicted at the carpet’s centre, surrounded by a ring of twelve pointed oval shapes. The Potter crest was shown from either end together with its motto, amicti sapientia — cloaked in wisdom. The borders of the carpet were set in a contrasting deep red that had various moving magical creatures depicted on them, most notable of which was the griffins depicted on two of the four corners, the other two showing a Cerberus and a Sphinx. Each part of the design was then filled with several types of scrollwork set with flowers and leaves, with laurel and cypress being by far the most common.

The carpet, if Harry’s memory on Charlus’ retelling of the story served right, had apparently been commissioned centuries ago by a member of a minor branch and given as a gift to the Potter family head. It was intricate and complex, each piece and creature depicted chosen carefully as representatives of the family’s history and values. The crest was shown in remarkable detail, its two-way black and white division showing in remarkable life-like detail the three crossed spears and the open book of the top and bottom halves, the red dividing line between vivid and bright. A single palm tree frond was depicted on one of the book’s pages, with a strange triangle encapsulating a circle and a straight line on the other. Antlers crowned the crest, as wider than the shield itself.

It was only this triangle that Harry couldn’t interpret of his family’s crest, its meaning escaping him. The rest of the elements were clear: the open book signifying manifestation, the palm tree frond — a tie to ancient egyptian magical symbolism, from which its depiction in tarot cards came — signifying resurrection and truth, and the spears representing devotion to honour. The antlers that crowned the crest were the most interesting of them all, putting its associated meaning of strength and fortitude above all of the other elements.

It had been a confusing thing to memorize or even understand as a child, and Harry had only really started understanding the given meanings of all things once he had started studying divination under his mother’s supervision. Symbols and meanings were almost pervasive in magical culture, and though variations existed all over the world some common themes existed for them all. Particularly when it came to numbers. 

The elaborate persian carpet at their manor’s living room seemed nearly ominous in how much detail had been added into it, from the choice of plants to that of the creatures depicted. Then, the distinct letters of the motto — amicti sapientia — something that Harry still didn’t quite understand. It was set nearly at the centre of the room, with multiple couches and chairs bordering it and facing the sole fireplace of the room. The room’s walls were covered by tall bookshelves with books and a number of trinkets, and a number of paintings.

“Are you listening to me, Harry?”

Harry looked up at his mother once again, biting his lip. She looked tense and angry, as much as she and his father had at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. The tension didn’t seem to have dissapeared now that the three were at the manor’s living room, with Harry on the couch opposite to the one his parents were occupying. Around him, he noticed some of the occupants of the paintings looking at him with either curious or disapproving eyes.

“I am,” Harry said in a low voice, steeling himself to keep himself looking at his parents rather than down at the detailed carpet.

It was a nearly unprecedented situation, it was usually James that got told off or punished by his parents for misbehaving. Harry had never really stepped out of line, aside from a few minor occasions, and seeing his parents angry at him was a tough thing to face. That James was nowhere near the living room was perhaps his only respite and positive about the situation — his twin had immediately gone to his room once they had arrived and the house elves had taken taken care of their trunks and owls. He wasn’t in the living room to see or add to the already bad situation.

“It doesn’t quite look like you do, however, Harry,” Euphemia Potter continued. “We thought you understood the importance of hiding your gift from others. Yet, despite that all, at the beginning of December James sent us a letter telling us that you attempted to warn someone about a dream you saw.”

“Did you really do that, Harry?” his father asked, disappointment more evident in him than in his mother.

Harry nodded, “I did,” he whispered, immediately looking back down at the carpet as he saw his father’s eyes widen.

Euphemia stood up. “Harry!”

“I… I had to, father, mother. You didn’t see what I saw. If it comes to pass—”

“What could be important enough to endanger your safety like that, Harry?” Euphemia continued. “James told us about everything in his letter. We…” she started saying, voice getting louder and louder. “It became a rumor immediately, what did you think—” 

Fleamont Potter placed a hand on his wife’s back, beckoning her to calm down. She did so almost immediately, taking a deep breath as she sat back down on the black baroque couch.

“What were you thinking, Harry? Did you consider the danger of your actions at all?” Harry’s father finally asked. “You should have warned us or Dumbledore about your dream, not that boy. You don’t understand the danger of you talking about your dreams!”

Harry clenched his fists. “I do! I—, father, he’s going to be killed by the Whomping Willow on Hogwarts grounds. He’ll—!” 

“He laughed at your warning, Harry!” interrupted Euphemia. “James noticed immediately that it must have been you. Imagine if someone learnt of your gift.”

“He’ll die though, I had to do something. An anonymous letter wasn’t putting me in any danger, I even had it delivered with one of Hogwarts owls instead of mine.”

“That’s besides the point, Harry, James told us even the teachers heard about the strange letter. Even Dumbledore even sent us a letter warning us about what had happened. To have that happen after we gave our word to protect your secret…” 

Harry deflated and opened up his hands. He felt anxious, overwhelmed. With a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach that made him feel nauseous and uncomfortable. The sweat on his hands a sign enough of how uncomfortable and _wrong_ he felt. 

What was he to do? He didn’t want Gudgeon to suffer, regardless of the fact that he had no ties to the other first year. He didn’t want to have to sit back and just ignore the things happening around him, following the every rule and thing he was told to do without asking about why. He wanted to prove himself. Learn more and help people. Not be like the stone of the statue Professor Riddle had mentioned.

“Harry, are you listening?”

Harry sighed. “Yes, father,” he said. He felt heavy and divided by what he knew his parents thought.

“You don’t understand everything that is going on around us, Harry. There is much yet that you still have to learn, and the way our situation is advancing and progressing…” his father started muttered. For the first time in the day Harry he looked more worried than angry or disappointed.

“Things are developing and radicalizing too quickly, and with the way we are going and the Ministry is handling things it will only get worse,” Euphemia finished.

Harry frowned, not quite understanding what his father meant. “Worse?” he asked.

Fleamont Potter sighed and leaned his head on his hands, looking older and more tired than Harry had ever seen him before. Besides him Harry’s mother bit her lip and looked downwards, her body posture revealing just how uncomfortable she felt. It took a while before his father spoke again.

“You don’t need to worry about these things, Harry, that’s what we’re here for.  You just need to keep your ability and gift secret to all. Eventually, when you’re older, you’ll be able to understand just how important you’ll be to Magical Britain and us, to Dumbledore,” he explained. 

His father smiled, though it wasn’t reassuring.

“Until then you must trust us and remain silent. If the wrong people were to learn that you are a seer, that you can see and predict the future, you will find yourself being manipulated and used by all. Attacked by people who will only wish to use your abilities.”

“We know you think us harsh, Harry, but there is a reason why we made you start studying divination so early and why we want you to learn occlumency,” his mother said, voice now considerably gentler than before. 

Harry just stared.

“A seer is a powerful thing, Harry. You still can’t understand all that is happening. There are hidden groups and people that only wish death to our society. Things will likely get worse, Dumbledore thinks so, and if your gift is known by then you will be in a lot of danger,” she then stopped for a few seconds, and shared a look with Fleamont.

“Seers used to be captured and blinded in order to expand their powers, Harry. If someone were to capture you…”

Harry bit his lip again, and looked down, feeling worse than ever. The feeling in his stomach grew at the realization of what he knew his parents had been trying to do and how this conflicted with his own wishes. “I was just trying to do the right thing… I—”

Euphemia smiled tensely. “We’re worried, love, if only you knew…”

Fleamont nodded, but his expression hardened again, the corners of his lips turning downwards. “Never warn anyone again, Harry. Let this be your first and final warning. Only tell us or Dumbledore about the things you see — we will take care of it.”

Harry nodded, but hid away and bit back the questions he had. Hadn’t Stebbins’ father died regardless of his warning? Why did he have to remain silent when divination theory pointed to the fact that, for an oracle, the sharing of visions was crucial? _‘Do what you mean to do_ ’ — those had been his uncle’s words. And the advice Riddle had given him over the first term…

“Father, mother. I…” Harry stuttered. His parents looked at him expectantly. “Some of the dreams I’ve had and the things I’ve seen… They’ve gotten more violent than how they were years ago more violent. So when I saw Gudgeon being hit by the Whomping Willow at Hogwarts—”

His father’s expression dropped, worry plain to see, whilst Euphemia’s morphed into a considerably stern one. Brows furrowing and lips pressing into a thin line. It broke quickly, however. Shifting into one closer to Fleamont’s.

Harry looked back down at the carpet.

“I know it must be difficult, Harry, but you must understand. There isn’t anything that can be done about except brave through it all,” she said. “Think of what Albus—, Dumbledore has said, Harry.” 

Harry sat motionless, keeping his eyes down. Not quite trusting himself to meet his parents eyes. A choking feeling weighing him down.

Euphemia stood up from the couch, and it wasn’t long before Fleamont followed her. Harry glanced at them, surprised.

“Go back to your room, Harry,” she said. “Think on what you’ve done and we’ve said today.”

Harry only nodded, and absentmindedly followed both his parents as they started walking towards one of the two decorated doorways that led to the living room. They had almost fully left before Euphemia suddenly stopped, turning back to look at Harry after sharing yet another look with her husband. 

“Your father and I thought that this time you shouldn’t be punished, but know that you’ll be expected to continue studying divination throughout the holidays, like we accorded. Additionally, and because it will likely become essential to you in the future, you’ll be starting occlumency lessons with a personal friend of ours. Your daily schedule will be like that you had before going to Hogwarts.”

Harry nodded, “I understand, mother, father.” He stood up from the couch he had been sitting on, feeling surprisingly weak. 

“Is there anything you have any doubts about, Harry?” Fleamont asked.

Harry frowned and looked to a side, trying to think of anything to ask. “Nothing, except… Father, mother, are there any books on scrying that I could borrow at the library?” 

Euphemia’s expression visibly brightened. “I’m sure there must be some, Harry. You know you can borrow anything you find related to your studies, both those of Hogwarts and divination.”

Harry smiled, the thought of continuing and furthering his researching on water-scrying brightening the thought of what would otherwise surely be a lonely and tense break. It was only a few seconds later that he remembered the question he had sent to his great-uncle Charlus via letter, and which he had in turn told him to ask his own parents. 

“Father, mother,” Harry started saying. He immediately continued talking once he noticed the quizzical look on his parents faces. “This isn’t related to my studies or Hogwarts, but I thought I’d ask you this. What are the Knights of Walpurgis and the Order of the Phoenix?”

His mother’s eyes widened just as his father frowned in a way that very nearly seemed like a scowl. 

“How did you hear about them, Harry?” she asked nervously.

“I…” Harry muttered. He couldn’t think of a single way to justify his knowing about the two organizations, and he didn’t want to mention that he had already asked his aunt and uncle about them. Saying the truth would probably be the best. “I heard about them in a dream,” he finally said.

“Neither are things you need to worry about, Harry. Centre on your studies,” his father said, tone harsher than Harry had ever heard before. 

They both turned to leave once again, only stopping once they were very nearly at the hallway behind the door.

“Our warning from the beginning of term still stands, Harry. Stay away from your Defence professor as much as possible.”

The animals on the borders of the carpet moved on around the it, pacing. One of the paintings hanging from the walls, one directly besides one of the two doors depicting an old and stern-looking man, observed Harry. 

“Though it might not seem like so, my son and his wife mean the best.”

Harry faced the painting, taking in the details of the man within the painting, whom he knew to have been Henry Potter, his grandfather. He was sitting on a chair presiding over a long table in what he assumed was the gardens of a castle, nondescript book open in his hand. He hadn’t known him, not really. Henry Potter had died when Harry was still young. He only really knew what his father retold about him — that Henry Potter had been a quiet, hard working, and inventive man, going as far as serving in the Wizengamot for eight years.

Harry nodded absentmindedly, and ignored the looks the other paintings in the room gave him. A few moments went by without Harry knowing what to say. A young-looking woman within the painting that hung directly above the elaborately-carved fireplace in the room was observing Harry. She was sitting amidst a gathering of similar-looking people, a slew of books and papers on the table between. An old and aristocratic-looking man sat directly besides her, together with a young man at her right, sitting surprisingly close. An old-fashioned cloak sat in front of the three wizards, unassuming and hard to notice.

“Look at our crest and motto and understand, young Potter: ‘Cloaked in wisdom’,” she started saying confidently. The young woman’s eyes seemed to be fixated on Harry, dark hue clearly visible despite her dark, untamable-looking hair.

The young woman smiled sweetly before sharing a brief look with the young man besides her. It wasn’t long before she was looking at Harry again. “Having the sight is a gift that requires the build up of knowledge to be used. You will do honour to our family.” 

Harry nodded, wondering who the young woman might have been to be in such a gathering of long-since dead Potter family members. His father had only told him the names of a few, but the only name Harry could remember was that of the man presiding the table and that of the younger man — Linfred and Hardwin Potter, his direct ancestors. The two of them were both looking at Harry now, curiosity evident in the face of the young one.

“Though one must really wonder where a Potter might have inherited the sight from. No family members whom I can remember have had an inner eye as developed as yours,” the young man — Hardwin Potter — suddenly added. “Fleamont seems to have nearly forgotten to wonder about that amidst the rest of his worries.”

The younger woman’s eyebrows rose, and she turned to contemplate the old-fashioned cloak. The two men looked at her questioningly, and her smile grew ever so slightly before giving way to a stoic mask.

It hadn’t, in truth, been something Harry had bothered contemplating since first discovering about his gift. Paling in comparison to the worries of his dreams.

 

* * *

 

The next morning saw Harry in his father’s study.

The door opened noisily, its frame rattling ever so slightly. Drawing in a deep breath, Harry entered the room. Squinting at the bright light that flooded in through the large latticed windows opposite him. His father was sitting behind the only desk in the room, seemingly absorbed in the letter that had resulted in his missing breakfast that morning. It was easy to tell that he wasn’t exactly paying attention to it, however, and it wasn’t long before the letter was put down on the desk. 

The Slytherin quietly shut the door behind him, and eyed the room around him. Despite the familiarity of the surroundings, Harry couldn’t remember the last time he had found his father’s study truly comforting.

He had never spent too much time inside, just enough to be familiar with the layout within and the books kept inside. It had always seemed, however, oddly strange. Akin to foreign territory. It was one of the few rooms Harry had disliked entering without permission when he and James had taken to exploring the manor in search for hidden treasure rooms years ago. Taking to avoiding it ever since they had accidentally interrupted a delicate meeting his father was holding over the foreign sales of his Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion with Theodred Nott and Ignatius Prewett.

It was located in the western wing of the manor, overlooking the main entrance of the manor from its location on the second floor. Inside was furniture set mainly in warm tones of wood. Decorated, then, by strategically placed ornaments and paintings, and further accentuated by an elaborate red carpet at its very centre. A lit fireplace, ornately carved from some sort of white stone, cast warm tones of red and yellow upon the rest of the room. A carved version of their family’s coat of arms decorating the wall directly above it.

Tall rows of bookshelves stood on some of the room’s edges, contouring it with many of the tomes Fleamont had received upon his father’s death. A large desk sat in the middle of the room, its front facing the study’s only door in what was both a security and stylistic decision. A myriad of objects and oddities were atop of it, with any important letters and documents received neatly sorted out on its right. Various chairs and armchairs were scattered throughout the room, generally unused and empty-looking.

The latticed windows behind his father offered a clear view of the manor’s entrance. The outer walls of the manor standing clearly at a distance, just barely concealed by ivy. 

The manor’s walls had stood up for decades, fortifications disguised within decorative red and gold tiles and baroque embellishments delimited at the edges by polished white stone. It was deceptively simple and weak, a remnant of a different time. Its fortifications and embellishments styled after the fashions of a time long past, when the Potter family had first moved away from their castles. Styled in such a way which avoided the opulence that characterized other wizarding manors of the time, using straight lines and restrained embellishments to convey a sobriety and moderation missing in the houses of other pureblood families. Beautiful and composed in ways that few things managed to be.

Its surrounding gardens were well maintained, without any of the intricate hedges and flower-covered patterns that characterized the Malfoy manor. The grounds surrounding the Potter manor were instead open green fields, only broken every now and then by groups of trees, along with paths of gravel. Simple and soothing on the whole, and more representative of the family than had seemed evident to Harry in his childhood. Beautiful despite the lack of the opulence and majesty that characterized other pureblood estates Harry had seen. 

His father smiled slowly. “Harry,” he greeted. “Come, sit.”

Harry nodded as way of greeting despite still being nervous about what his parents had told him the last night. He quickly walked forwards, coming to sit on one of the two armchairs opposite the large grey favored by his father.

“Sorry I interrupted your studies, Harry,” his father quickly said. The letter he had been reading was now atop the pile of unread or undone work, neatly stacked alongside the rest of the parchment. It was thick. Heavy-looking. With a loopy sort of elegant script that Harry found relatively familiar. 

His father looked tired. Far more exhausted and old than Harry had ever really thought possible. There were pronounced bags under his eyes, a barely discernible twist of worry accompanying the smile on his lips.

It had been an odd morning. He had barely seen his father whatsoever, having disappeared as soon as his eagle-owl had delivered mail. His mother hadn’t wasted time in explaining that she expected Harry to continue his classes, further telling him that a family friend would soon start teaching him the basics of occlumency. Coupled, then, by the mixture of apologetic and pointed gazes his twin had sent his way all throughout; something which would have been confusing had it not summarized the majority of their interactions since Harry’s failed attempt warn Gudgeon. 

“I know your mother has planned quite extensively the classes you are to take throughout the holidays, but I needed your help once again,” he explained. 

“Is something wrong, father?” Harry asked.

His father shook his head. “Nothing, I just require your help and gift once more due to some troubling news Albus just told me about.” 

Harry frowned and immediately looked at the offending letter. “The letter?” he asked. Had something happened?

His father nodded slowly, as if drowsily. “Yes, though it isn’t something you should worry about. You’re still too young.”

Harry nodded slowly, a distinctive feeling of distress immediately filling him. A flash of how easy it had been to ask his aunt and uncle about things in letters quickly through his mind. Even though he hadn’t overheard a single student in his house talk about the Knights of Walpurgis in his presence, he was sure that were he to ask about them to his Head of House he’d most likely get an answer. Something. Professor Riddle had been surprisingly helpful in helping Harry before.

He ignored the way the feeling of distress morphed into something stronger and darker that sent his heart and mind racing, as well as the feeling of shame that was brought along with it. Surely his parents knew best…? Considering that Harry still didn’t know how the man really was — progress with scrying had stagnated — and knowing what his features showed about the man himself showed… There must have been a reason behind his parent’s warning, even if he didn’t understand it and it didn’t seem to fit in with how the professor had seemed to be at Hogwarts.

Even Gryffindors liked the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. He was a favourite all around.

“I wanted to ask you, Harry, whether you could help me with your gift,” Fleamont asked. He then paused for a few seconds, as if to collect his thoughts. His expression changed after a few seconds to one of worry. “Have you seen anything worrying in dreams recently?” he finally said. 

“A lot of them, but,” Harry started saying. He stopped suddenly and frowned, not quite knowing what his father meant. He had altogether too many dreams, and the leather-bound notebook his brother had gifted him years ago was quickly becoming filled up. 

“What do you mean, father?”

“Have you seen anything like what you saw happen to your friend’s father? To Bricius Stebbins?” 

Harry shook his head, and his father seemed to deflate at his answer. “Nothing at all?” he pressed.

“Well, nothing like that,” Harry muttered. He looked to a side as he tried to remember anything that had stood out.

His dreams had been an odd mixture of seemingly normal and less normal things, though most appearing to occur to people he knew nothing about. Some focusing on foreign wizards, others to people in Diagon Alley he had never met… He had even seen a group of wizards attack on some sort of cafeteria filled with Muggles, but that hadn’t seemed important by comparison. Horrifying, but relatively normal in comparison to the other things he had seen Muggles go through or do. Only Gudgeon’s dream had really stood out. Perhaps the strange meeting where he had first heard about the Order of the Phoenix? 

The only odd dream he had had was the one where he had been within that odd room, with the unknown masked person kneeling before another.

“Other than Gudgeon, everything has been more confusing,” he continued. “I remember seeing a group of people in a meeting talking about Stebbins’ father, and what to do with something they had taken from him,” he started explaining. “A bag — it was the dream I first heard about the Order of the Phoenix.”

His father nodded, encouraging him to continue, but his expression remained distinctively calm. He didn’t seem surprised. 

“Though it ought to have occurred already, since that aurur  — Benjy Fenwick, one of the people I saw attacking Stebbins’ father — was there,” Harry explained. “However there wasn’t anything that is really worth saying about that meeting. Just that whatever had been in the bag had been important.”

His father shook his head. “You don’t need to concern yourself about those details, Harry. Those are things that have already been taken care of.”

Harry frowned, but nodded. Deciding to continue rather than stopping to ask about the bag he admittedly still was curious about.

“The only other dreams that stood out was the one I had about Davey Gudgeon,” Harry said, cringing when he saw his father’s expression close at the mention of the boy and, by extent, his own actions. “Besides, only another one about Muggles being attacked by Wizards in a store somewhere,” he added.

“Muggles attacked? How odd, perhaps I should tell Albus…” he muttered, nodding. It didn’t however, seem to be the answer he was looking for.

“I see dreams like that really frequently though, father. Muggles being attacked or killing each other, that is. I think there is a war going on somewhere in the world, and the things that go on there…” Harry started explaining. Those dreams were horrifying to remember, though seemed to fit with how his friends often talked about Muggles.

His father frowned at that, but he didn’t say anything in response. Leaving Harry to wonder what he was thinking.

“Perhaps… It was a strange dream, though I remember seeing a masked man promising to do something for someone. I couldn’t see either of them or recognize anything about what they were talking about, however,” he suddenly added, remembering the strangeness of the scene.

“That will be all then, Harry, though perhaps…” His eyes darted to the lit fireplace at a side of the room, widening in turn. “Before you leave to continue studying then, Harry, would you mind to look into the fire and tell me if you see anything?”

“Like I used to do before starting Hogwarts?” Harry asked.

Fleamont only nodded. Before Harry knew it he was kneeling before the lit fireplace, his father staring attentively at him with an expression he couldn’t quite place. Harry dug into his pocket in search for a piece of chalk he had gotten used to carrying around when he had first learnt to read fire-omens and decided on his preferred ways of practicing the art. Finding nothing, however, he turned to face his father. 

“I can’t find my piece of chalk, father. Do you have any?” he asked directly. He needed it if he wanted to read the signs in the flames.

His father nodded and reached for one of the quills on his desk. Quickly transforming it into a piece of chalk with a swish of his wand and a spell Harry couldn’t quite place. Harry immediately started drawing runes around the edges of the fireplace as soon as he was handed the chalk. He was finished in less than a minute — force of habit had already burnt into his mind the correct recommended order for simple image-based readings — and quickly checked that everything was written correctly.

It was only after he had made sure everything was perfect that he moved back slightly and drew two more runes on the floor. These being the most important ones, as well as the only Elder Furthark runes he understood: _Ansuz_ and _Peorth_. _Ansuz_ being a powerful rune representing communication, wisdom and knowledge, and truth; with _Peorth_ representing fate, knowledge, and luck.

He checked both for any incorrect lines — a benefit of using chalk rather than anything more permanent — and finally took out a light necklace from his pocket. A light and simple thing with only a single circular piece of wood with the rune _Thurisaz_ carved on it — necessary to make the process work and strengthen the chalk-drawn runes without using his own magic directly. His father had been the one to carve and activate the rune in the necklace a few years ago, after all. 

Harry immediately felt a pull, and the flames started to burn ever so brighter.

It wasn’t exactly like casting magic — it didn’t require a wand or spell of any sort — and only drained his energy. The thin wooden necklace had already been appropriately created for him by his parents, preventing the need of any casting on Harry’s part. It was a simple practice that didn’t require the user to use any sort of spell. Instead draining being something the user could sustain with his own magic, and worked to heighten their senses when looking at something specific. Much like sometimes other rituals, apparently, also did.

The only drawback came exactly from this benefit. The lack of wand or magic use of any sort meant that whatever Harry might see in the flames — the fire-omens — would appear weak and difficult to understand. The price to pay for not using one’s own magic to strengthen the messages in the flames. Something, however, that Harry couldn’t do anything about considering he was underage.

It was the only way of being able to read fire-omens easily whilst avoiding stranger historical rituals relating to pyromancy, significantly more complicated runes, or carving the runes onto his own skin for constant heightened sight. The latter being something which, according to books detailing the history of the field, used to be a common practice by seers, augurs, and oracles; as well as something often forced upon them. Heightening the vision and very _feeling_ one got from the flames and any other divination method. Giving increased control and power, albeit of the permanent kind. The practice sounding like a curse precisely because of this. Apparently, a common potential disadvantage of carving runes onto oneself.

Harry glanced at his father, who still was gazing intently. Turning back to face the flames immediately after seeing his knowing nod. Reading fire-omens for his father and mother practically being a habit now.

He remembered immediately why pyromancy had been one of the types of divination he had taken taken an immediate liking to. The color, messages, and shapes and shades they took within the flames were often beautiful. Eye-catching and different from anything else he knew. Even his dreams. Surpassing the idea of reading tea-leaves, something that had always seemed too far unreliable for him.

He let himself be taken in by the sight in the flames. 

The fire immediately seemed to grow taller. It started to dance chaotically. Its point, which had previously been only one, divided into two just as the colour changed into a bright orange. The sound of cracking ceased completely, and it started burning completely silently. The smoke rising thickened considerably, and grew darker. Images flashed the fire quickly, some too quick to spot, let alone interpret.

A bad omen.

The colour of the flames grew darker, moving away from its initial orange and reaching a bright red which immediately turned into a significantly darker hue. More images went by, this time with Harry only catching quick glimpses of hooded men kneeling, Diagon Alley, Hogwarts, a snake and a skull… They disappeared, giving way a series of quick abstract objects. The last image Harry saw before the fire was abruptly put out was that of a coin with shifting faces, rolling and ringing as it spun on and on.

Harry got up and turned back to look at his father.

“Harry?” his father asked. Confusion plain to see. “What did you see?”

Harry frowned. “I only saw some images, most too brief to recognize. A snake and a skull, a hooded man, a group of men who were kneeling…” he started saying. He briefly glanced back at the fireplace. “The rest of the images were all abstract. The most noticeable one was one of a spinning coin — a galleon. Chance, and either ruin or gain.”

“Harry?” his father asked again.

Harry’s expression softened. Though meaning could sometimes be disputed, the underlying significance was clear. “It was a bad omen, father.”

His father’s expression fell. Frowning, the amount of worry in his eyes only increased. He had recognised something about the things Harry had said, despite the fact it hadn’t seemed to make any sense for Harry himself. That something being worrying enough to merit such a reaction.

Harry’s gut twisted as he remembered the lack of an answer from his parents at his question about the Order of the Phoenix and the Knights of Walpurgis.

Perhaps if he asked…?

Harry pursed his lips in determination, “father?” 

Fleamont immediately turned, still looking shaken.

“Some of the images were related to what you were worried about before, weren’t they?” he asked. “What was it? What did it mean? If it was a bad omen—” Harry said, stumbling over some words. He was worried, truth be told. The fire had been too red and dark, the smoke to think. The two points… 

His father looked at him as if pityingly, and shook his head. “Sorry, Harry. But it isn’t something you should be worrying about.”

Harry’s eyes widened, his father’s words leaving him shaken. In his mind, he remembered the spinning coin, and how by rolling and ringing it had seemed far more distinctive than anything else he had glimpsed in the fire.

“I apologize if your mother and I seemed cold yesterday, but you must understand, son,” his father continued. He looked serious, more so than usual. “It is important for you to concentrate on learning to master your gift right now and keep it secret.” 

He left his father’s office in a daze, nausea seeming to have settled into his stomach.

When he practiced reading fire-omens in the privacy of his own bedroom again that night, the same spinning coin and snake appeared, Harry was surprised to find himself blinking wet. 

He missed his aunt and uncle, and the way they would cheer him up and support him. Answer his questions. He missed his roommates, his friends, from Hogwarts. Avery’s intelligence. Mulciber’s jokes and comments about other students. Severus’ relaxing companionship and wit. He missed the varied curriculum offered at Hogwarts, so different from divination, and the opportunity it offered Harry to prove himself something. He missed the extracurricular classes of the Defence Club, and the way professor Riddle made Defence Against the Dark Arts the most interesting subject out of all.

It was lonely.

He returned regardless the next morning after breakfast to do the same reading for his father. This time, his mother present.

 

* * *

 

The grandfather clock at the entrance started chiming. One, two, three, four… The distinctive sound of someone arriving through floo at the entrance reached the brown armchair Harry was sitting on, immediately followed by the distinctive _pop_ of one of their house elves apparating to receive their guest. The grandfather clock’s chimes had barely stopped when Euphemia Potter left the living room as if in a rush, gesturing for Harry to follow her. Action that earned an immediate look of pity from James, who had, until then, been browsing through _Quidditch Through the Ages_.

Four in the afternoon: his first occlumency class, only two days after the beginning of the holidays. An odd thought when considering the difference between his and James’ holidays.

Harry closed the divination theory book he had been reading, rising from his seat before his mother had the chance to say anything. Swiftly leaving the room after her, book against his chest.

It was dark already — the sun had already set — and the hallways were lit in shades of yellow and orange characteristic of candles and fire. Deceptively making the corridors larger than they truly were, as well as later than what it actually was. 

His parents had explained it the day after their arrival back home. How Harry was to start occlumency classes and training earlier than what they had intended, with classes to occur under the guidance of Gideon Prewett — apparently a friend and close associate of his parents — until the end of the break. Their intention being to give Harry a good foundation with which to progress with occlumency later during the next holiday period, and eventually help him master the art. They were quite nervous about it. Worried.

Nothing, however, quite prepared Harry for the sight of the man at their entrance.

Gideon Prewett. 

It had been easy to recognize him — he was one of the men Harry had seen during one of the dreams he had had at Hogwarts. A tall man with curly red hair and a prominent and unmistakable moustache, dressed in formal green-brown robes different from the ones he had worn in the meeting Harry had seen in his dream. The one in which he had been witness to a large meeting of people, of which he had been amongst the keenest in delivering the contents of the strange box to the Order of the Phoenix. The very same Stebbins’ father, Bricius Stebbins, had been carrying before his death

A deep, painful-looking scar marred the man’s face, going from his left cheek up to his forehead, narrowly avoiding his eyes. It had to be new — it hadn’t been something Harry had ever seen before — though his mother hadn’t made a reference to it upon greeting the man. Even after all the expected and adequate pleasantries had been exchanged and she had guided the man towards the manor’s library.

The man — Gideon, as he had quickly asked to be called — seemed cheerful, if a bit formal. It wasn’t until Harry found himself sitting opposite of him on one of the tables at the library that he really introduced himself. He was one of the Prewett twins, something Harry had heard already both from his parents — they apparently were close friends, and often attended events together and the Longbottoms — and Slytherin housemates. Gideon and Fabian Prewett, two of the youngest and more famous aurors at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The latter, however, seeming to usually carry along with it quite a negative view.

Truth be told, Harry hadn’t quite known what to think about the man. Other than the contradictory comments he remembered overhearing at Hogwarts, he didn’t truly know anything about him. Only possessing the details he had been privy to through his dream. Within which he had wounded up focusing more on Benjy Fenwick — the now deceased auror that had killed Bricius Stebbins.

A theoretical lesson had followed Harry’s denial of any previous knowledge in the mind arts, and he had quickly found himself noting as many of the words of his parent’s friend down.

Occlumency — the magical defence of the mind against external penetration. A highly useful, though obscure, branch of magic. As well as the counterpart to legimency, which had the opposite effect.

Truth be told, despite the bad start of the holidays, he was excited to start learning. By the way his parents had explained it, occlumency had seemed amongst the most useful and practical things one could possibly learn, particularly if he were to continue and compliment it with other things. More so if it meant that it would help assuage and calm his parents down. 

It quickly became apparent that occlumency was vastly different to anything Harry had ever studied before.

Occlumency was completely different from anything he had had experience with before, relying in its most basic form on a person clearing their mind as a form of defence. Further allowing for higher and far more complicated forms of defence depending on the user’s skill, for which meditation and other forms of practice were necessary. Benefitting from control over one’s emotions and memories. A skill that aided one in shielding themselves, their thoughts, their _everything_ from access or influence.

Over an hour went by before the Gideon finished his explanation of the basic theory of occlumency, by which time it had become even darker. The man had slumped against the back of the chair and turned to observe the arrays of books all around the library as soon as he had finished introducing the topic and its basic concepts. Common ways of defense, exercises, stronger forms of protection…

Harry quickly looked up from the array of parchment now before him as the now-distant grandfather clock started ringing the four notes that indicated it was half past five.

The red-haired man seemed to be completely serious. His expression was completely closed, contrasting with the cheery attitude he had displayed when he had first arrived to the manor. Pensive.

Gideon Prewett seemed to quickly shake himself off the mood and quickly turned back to face Harry, seeming startled. Making Harry notice for the first time the way the man’s nose wasn’t quite aquiline, instead only slightly curved; the way the man’s brown eyes seemed to be closer than further apart; and how his lips, thinner than any he had seen before, were largely hidden beneath the thick hair of his moutache.

“Sir?”

It didn’t take long for Gideon Prewett to smile in the cheery way he had when he had arrived at the manor. No signs of strain being overly evident in the smile.

“Did you manage to note down everything, Harry? Is there anything you didn’t quite understand?” he asked. His voice was sincere. “There are many more concepts that I didn’t introduce, but I thought this would be the best way to introduce occlumency to you.”

“No, Sir. I think I got everything,” Harry said, politely shaking his head. He at least thought he had — the basics that the man had explained had seemed logical.

“Fantastic,” the man beamed. “I am sure that once we start practicing everything will start making more sense. Now, before we begin…”

“Sir?”

“It is important, before starting training in occlumency, that an oath is sworn to not make any use or reveal without express permission any secrets or experiences that might be inadvertently seen during training,” Gideon, started saying. “Considering what your parents have told me, I considered important to make it clear that magical oaths are binding, as you already ought to know.”

Harry only nodded, and the man smiled.

Once the oath had been sworn, however, it quickly became clear that the classes wouldn’t be as easy or enjoyable as he initially thought they would be. Perhaps it was sheer level of discomfort he felt at being forced to relieve some of his more graphic dreams and bad memories. The horror that he felt whenever he remembered some of the things he had seen. Repeats of his innocence at asking Abraxas Malfoy about what he had thought was an illness. The strange boy of the past. The kneeling man in the white mask. Bricius Stebbins. Gudgeon. Even some of his talks with professor Riddle. 

By the time the class ended at seven, just in time for dinner, Harry had a headache that seemingly refused to go. Gideon bid his farewell almost immediately, pensive expression dominating his face.

Harry found his family at the dining room, already having started dinner.

 

* * *

 

It was strange to think just how easy it was to shift back into the pattern of studying and taking occasional classes at the manor. Of doing regular and daily readings for both his parents at their request. Particularly since what his mother had Harry study was so different from what they had started learning at Hogwarts. 

His retelling of how he had found the classes, though met with ample enthusiasm from his father at hearing Harry’s excitement and interest in Defence Against the Dark Arts, had been met with a strange sort of indifferent happiness from his mother. It had been strange to come to realise that, despite the studious routine Harry had fallen into and followed at Hogwarts, managing to remain on top of almost all subjects save History of Magic, her focus very much was on divination exclusively.

_‘You don’t need to worry about those things, Harry. Defense… it’s good that you learn it, but Divination is what you must focus on.’_

The slightly different focus in the minds of his parents — his mother’s being stricter — had served as a sharp reminder of how things had been before Hogwarts, despite the easiness of a routine involving going to the library first thing in the morning. 

Things had changed slightly, however. The subjects he was studying within divination now were slightly more advanced: Harry had finally started touching on advanced face-reading and palmistry theory, something he was happy to finally start fully understanding. 

More interesting, however, were the two divination types he had started studying at his mother’s behest over Christmas, the former of which was by far the most interesting: ornithomancy — divination as related to birds and their movements — and chinese fortune sticks. The latter, however, having more depth and history than what the lots of seventy-eight stick containers sold at Zonko’s might suggest.

The most fascinating thing of all, however and by far, had been scrying. The manor’s library had turned out to have a number of books focused on scrying mirrors, crystal balls, and water. The subject as related to what Harry wanted to achieve still seemed as complex as it had in the books he had found at the Hogwarts library, though some of the books seemed far more helpful in starting than the ones there. He had been sad to realise, however, that there hadn’t been anything similar to the notebook he remembered hearing Avery talk about at Hogwarts.

Different water scrying methods were possible, some seemingly linked to theories of magical music, much like pyromancy was. Though the events seen in the water couldn’t really be controlled, there were ways of focusing one’s intentions via the the object or bowl used to hold the water. Something which had surprised Harry in its, as it had turned out, links to ancient runes and arithmancy. 

The only thing Harry would, then, need to start practicing water scrying was a bowl with the correct runes carved on it. Something which he would be able to experiment on more once he had been able to work out which runes were best. Something which he would, if lucky, be able to work out through the various books he had found at the manor’s library; of which an appropriately titled _‘Divination Around the World, Volume IV’_ seemed to touch on.

Days followed one another with surprising speed, seeing Harry go to the library to study whilst James spent time elsewhere, this often being out in the gardens playing Quidditch. Harry’s contact with him being limited to breakfast, lunch, dinner, and the rare times James spent with Harry at the library. Something which, despite how things had been years ago when Harry had had to start studying intensively at home and James had chosen to accompany him, wasn’t an odd thing to even think about anymore. His brother wasn’t made to stay that long surrounded by books. Not like some of his friends or Harry himself was.

The long hours at the library, however, were surprisingly lonely. Odd because how noticeable Severus’ absence was.

There was a certain enjoyment in reading alongside the other boy. Harry couldn’t count the times he had ended up studying or even just reading at the library together with the other boy before heading back to the Slytherin Common Room. Even the absence of Avery and Mulciber was strange. 

The same couldn’t be said about Stebbins, however. After what had happened to his father, the boy had ended up retreating into a shell. A fact that had ended up with their Head of House calling him to meet him after classes more than once and the fellow first year student seeming despondent. As if not quite _there_ — something Harry hadn’t been able to fully comprehend until now. The other boy had barely talked to him.

The occlumency lessons had been the most stressful thing out of everything, and Harry hadn’t been able to prevent himself from slightly disliking them.

By the time the twenty-third of December had arrived, Harry had already been fully in the habit of taking classes with Gideon at the library. Used to sitting there for two or three hours at a time whilst attempting to organise his thoughts and force out the practice attacks of the auror. Something the man had termed useful in order for Harry to understand how attacks could be.

Despite what Gideon had told him, Harry still found the process itself bizarrely strange and stressful. That he recognised the necessity for learning occlumency early hadn’t taken away from the fact that classes hadn’t led anywhere. Despite having understood the theory quickly on the first day practice had proved considerably tougher. Practicing keeping his mind blank in the face of his own memories had been a seemingly strange impossibility, both discomforting and difficult. His only progress having been in partially being able to organise _some_ of his thoughts.

By the time the twenty-fifth and twenty-sixth had rolled around, it had quickly become apparent that Harry wasn’t making much progress at all. A fact that had made Gideon Prewett revise the theory and put both his parents on edge. His mother, in particular, finding Harry’s discomfort at the classes disappointing.

It was odd, seeing James have such different holidays than he had. How utterly different time seemed to go for him, and how little he saw of him outside of breakfast, lunch, and dinner. 

His twin, if not at the manor’s gardens, often was in the company of his parents. He had attended — had had to attend, as James had termed it — two Yule balls already, further meeting Black alongside his younger brother at one of them. Something which Harry didn’t quite know what to think about, considering how his days were going.

James, playing Wizard’s chess with his father. James, playing quidditch during mornings, whilst Harry studying divination in the library. James, being allowed to meet Sirius on the 25th. A day that had only seemed remarkable due to the old-fashioned cloak their father and given James as the oldest of the two. An invisibility cloak given to the oldest son at age eleven since centuries ago, as it turned out, identical to the one depicted within the painting at the living room.

He couldn’t help but feel a certain degree of anger at not being allowed the same privilege, particularly when he had received a letter from Avery inviting him to a ball at his manor. Something which seemed so _different_ by virtue of not having attended any ever since discovering his inner eye.

Truthfully, he didn’t quite _know_ what to talk about with James at night. The Gryffindor focusing on retelling Harry stories about Gryffindor, quidditch, and what he, Sirius, Remus, and Peter had been up to above everything else. All of which things he hadn’t, truth be told, been able to quite understand. 

The worst point of the holidays for both had come, however, when Harry had attempted to explain why he had tried to covertly warn Gudgeon on their second night back.

How were they both so different?

How had the holidays ended up being so oddly grey?

The letters his roommates, his friends, had sent him at perhaps been some of the best things to come out of the break. Even though the letters themselves had mostly been Mulciber complaining about the dullness of the balls he had been forced to attend with his family and Avery saying much of the same. The latter, however, remarking on some comments he had head at one of the events hosted by the Malfoy’s. The Slytherin, however, telling Harry that he would relay them once they were back at Hogwarts.

Something to do with how nothing had appeared in the press after the death of Stebbins’ father, apparently.

Severus’ letters and been the only really different ones. It was obvious that the black-haired boy wasn’t having the happiest of holidays, and Harry had taken no small amount of comfort at the way the other had seemed to understand.

The exchanged letters had succeeded in making the loneliness of his long hours at the library much more bearable, which had proved an interesting thought. It was strange — how Hogwarts had changed things. Particularly since Harry hadn’t really _had_ friends before. 

Things only really changed on the twenty-seventh.

A brown barn owl had flown into the dining room mid-breakfast, exactly as the grandfather clock at the entrance of the manor had started chiming, and dropped in front of his father a copy of the Daily Prophet along with two other journals. His father’s eagle owl followed, flying into the room and dropping immediately afterwards a heavy-looking envelope that hit the table with a loud _thud._

Harry and James could only observe with surprise and worry as his father opened the letter only to frown. Harry’s attention shifting completely away from the food on his plate and his plans for the day as soon as he heard his father stutter. 

“Euphemia, look at this! They have—,” his father said. He was shocked, hands trembling.

James and Harry could only observe as their mother quickly rose from her seat and walked towards her husband, frown and worry evident in her face. A photograph of a considerably damaged cafeteria was on the cover of the Prophet. The moving photograph clearly showing the backs of two Aurors as they  investigated the area. 

His mother’s eyes widened as soon as she saw the headline, hands drawing closer as she started visibly getting nervous. Harry inched closer to the newspaper, attempting to read the headline, and saw James doing the same in the corner of his eye. Blood drained from his face.

 

 _UNKNOWN ATTACKERS TARGET MUGGLES (27_ _ th _ _December 1971)_

_by Andy Smudgley._

_Yesterday, a Muggle cafeteria in London saw scenes of terror when clientele were attacked by an unknown group of Wizards, causing a death and over eight wounded. Eugenia Jenkins, Minister for Magic, classified the attacks this morning as “a horrifying act of violence.” “We have already opened an investigation to identify and capture the group of three wizards that carried out the attack,” said Rufus Scrimgeour, head of the Auror Office. Though the damage made to the area was minimal, initial investigations have revealed that an unknown number of Muggles are suspected to be missing. “It is theorized that a mark found on the sky after the events has ties to the attack,” stated Auror Fabian Prewett, as…_

 

James looked white. “Merlin, why…”

Fleamont looked at Euphemia as if in a daze, and it was only once she had nodded that he seemed to break out of it. He looked horrified, more so than Harry had ever seen him. Significantly more cared and old than he had ever thought possible.

It wasn’t even a minute before he had grabbed hold of the letter and newspapers the owls had delivered, and by then both of his parents looked panicked.

“I’ll be at my study for the rest of the day. This… I’ll need to finish dealing with some business. Albus will be waiting for my response,” he said.

Euphemia had followed after him soon afterwards, telling them that their father would both likely be gone for the day, but not to worry.

The manor had been oddly silent after that, with neither of the twins really knowing what to do and Harry defaulting to the schedule his mother had set out for studying in her absence. His father didn’t made an appearance for lunch afterwards, apparently having had to leave the manor. By the time he hadn’t arrived by dinnertime, Harry didn’t know what to think.

James was the only one to immediately ask.

“He’ll be late, sweetie. Don’t worry, he needed to talk to Albus and a few others.”

It was only once it was eight o’clock at night that Fleamont returned, looking as grim as he had during the morning. He didn’t waste any time in talking to Euphemia. 

The very next day saw their parents deciding to have them both stay at the house their uncle and aunt stayed. They’d have to be out for the next days, and didn’t want to leave them alone in the manor.

They never learnt got told about what sort of business they’d have to attend.

 

* * *

 

“I still don’t understand why mum and dad can’t be with us,” James blurted. “We’ll be back at Hogwarts in no time, and yet—”

Charlus smiled at his grandnephew apologetically as the door to Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream closed gently behind them; bell ringing as they left the store. Around them, Diagon Alley buzzed with activity. Its streets governed by a chaotic order that was nothing if not hard to navigate. The stores all around seemed to be crowded, an inconvenient side-effect of the Yule break. With the nearby Second-Hand Bookshop seeming particularly crowded.

“I just don’t get it,” he complained, “what sort of business is keeping them away at this time of the year, and for this long?”

Harry glanced at his twin, taking in the way his look of confusion furrowed his brow and made his mouth twist ever so slightly. Hazel eyes wide with something akin to confusion.

It didn’t last long. James’ eyebrows suddenly rose, his lips stretching into an easy lopsided grin that completely changed his demeanour. 

“Not to say these last two days haven’t been fantastic, aunt, uncle,” James teased. 

Charlus’ eyebrows rose with mock offense. Dorea smiling warmly besides him. Harry couldn’t help but laugh. 

The two days that had passed since arriving at Charlus and Dorea’s house had been amongst the most relaxing Harry could remember. It had been an oddly different experience. Despite the somewhat similar size, the house felt vastly different from the manor. Its only real differences being its smaller size and the vast quantities of trees surrounding it. It had been wonderful for many and far more numerous reasons than the change of pace it had offered. It had been the first time in years that Harry had been able to take a walk out through the fields surrounding the house with James, his aunt, and his uncle. 

It had been easy to notice the subtle glances between Charlus and Dorea whenever something relating to the attack was mentioned, however. The worried glances they had shared when a full statement had been issued by the Minister for Magic a day after the initial report. The frown upon the heated debates that had followed in the Wizengamot. 

Even James had noticed, even if he had chosen not to say anything about the attack itself. Only asking what the symbol cast into the sky after the attack — published by the Prophet a day afterwards — meant. The snake-and-skull that Harry distinctively remembered seeing in the flames.

It was only that night that Harry finally dared to ask his uncle about the attack the Daily Prophet had reported on. Curiosity burning despite his parent’s reaction to his questions on the first night back. Charlus’ immediately weary expression told Harry everything he needed to know about the event. Its seriousness, however, not quite because of what he had expected. 

_“It is not so much the attack that is worrying, Harry, but what it shows about the state of our society. Think about the violence you have heard about or seen through your gift, Harry. What does it show?”_

Even now, within Diagon Alley, it was obvious that the attack still was in everybody’s minds, with newspaper articles still being published about whatever scraps of new information had been unveiled. Loud whispers about it filling conversations at every corner, though some of a considerably different nature than others. 

It had been years since anything like this had happened. Not intentionally, or to this scale.

Regardless of the debates, Charlus and Dorea had decided to take both Harry and James out to Diagon Alley to celebrate the fast-approaching New Year. Having offered to treat them to anything of their choice.  

Harry followed his aunt and uncle as they navigated through the streets expertly. Decorations hung from every corner; green, red, and gold everywhere. Elaborate-looking charmed paper decorations of animals and magical creatures flying between buildings. Decorative ornaments hanging on the outside of every store, golden paper stars shining and moving atop their doors.

It didn't take them long to find and enter Sugarplum’s Sweets Shop, a store Charlus had insisted on showing Harry and James. Its outside an eye-catching bright pink and silver.

“Your grandfather Henry and I would come here all the time when we visited Diagon Alley,” he had explained. His expression and been bright, eyes twinkling with something akin to both joy and remorse. “Particularly during holidays. Licorice Snaps were always his favourite, though I always preferred the crystallised pineapples instead.” 

A box of Fudge Flies and Fizzing Whizzbees for he and James later, the latter by recommendation of Dorea, they left for the streets again. Ending up browsing through Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop at James’ insistence, and Quality Quidditch Supplies. James being delighted when he had learnt that Dorea had been the Keeper of the Slytherin Quidditch team.

“I want to try for the team this year or the next,” he had quickly added. “I hope I make it, it’s just so—”

Harry had found himself a bit bored at the store, attention not managing to be grabbed the products inside. Though he retained somewhat of an interest even after years of not playing, broomsticks had mostly ended up looking the same to him. A fact that James still couldn’t wrap his head around.

It was nearly noon by the time they left the store and made their way to Flourish and Blotts, which was to be their last stop before going back to the manor. He was particularly excited to look through it, having long since finished the books he had bought before the year had started. Wanting to look for some more books to buy with what was left of his allowance. 

Flourish and Blotts looked exactly the same as it had during August, the only difference being the considerably less amount of people within. Featherlight baskets were piled up in the very same spot he had found them months ago, even the same attendant being in charge of the front of the store. It was remarkably quiet when compared to the other shops they had been in, a fact Harry couldn’t help but appreciate.

James, now besides him, glanced around the store. The attentiveness with which he was looking around revealing his intentions better than any words could.

“You wanted to get some books, didn’t you, Harry?” Dorea asked. She was standing behind Harry and James, standing close to Charlus. “I remember you mentioning finishing a book on ancient runes in a letter?”

Harry nodded. “Yes, I already finished the ones I got before starting Hogwarts. I wanted to try and continue doing some extra reading.”

She smiled and nodded. Besides her, Harry saw a certain look of curiosity on his uncle’s face. James, who had already seen Harry work his way through the books at Hogwarts, only nodded.

“Very well then,” he said, turning to glance around the store before looking back at them.“Harry, do look for any books you’d like to read. You too, James. Consider it our treat.”

Harry’s lips immediately stretched into a smile, grabbed a feather-light basket, and he made his way towards the back of the store. Ancient Runes would be his first stop, having already finished the book professor Riddle had already recommended. Then, Divination — a necessary purchase — along with anything else that caught his eye. He was aware of his slightly lacking knowledge in the theory and history of the field.

Harry started walking back to the front of the store ten minutes later, three books inside the feather-light basket. Lukas Karuzo’s _‘New Theory of Numerology’_ sat at the very top, having perhaps been the hardest to choose. Beneath it,  ‘ _Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms’_ and Bathilda Bagshot’s _‘Omens, Oracles & the Goat’_. 

He immediately saw his aunt and uncle, who now were further apart from the door. Both talking to a stern-looking woman that was completely unrecognizable. Her blonde hair specked with a grew oddly close to the colour of her robes. James, meanwhile, was nowhere to be seen.

Charlus smiled as soon as he saw him, turning away from the two women. “Are those the ones you want, Harry?”

The two women turned to face him, and Harry found himself suddenly noticing there was someone else besides her. A boy who seemed close to Harry’s own age, practically the mirror image of his twin’s best friend. Posture and expression distinctively stoic.

He nodded, “three books,” he said, not quite having wanted to interrupt the adult’s conversation. “Exactly on the topics I wanted, too.”

Dorea looked at the three books inside the basket and smiled. The other two doing the same.

The strange woman immediately seemed impressed. “History, ancient runes, and arithmancy?” she asked, voice somewhat close to a shrill. She smiled at her aunt, posture remaining distinctively formal. “You must be proud to have such a  studious nephew, Dorea.”

Harry turned to look at the other boy as Dorea nodded and replied. It wasn’t until a minute later that he found himself being introduced to the two. 

Dorea looked at him. “Harry. Meet Walburga Black, my nephew,” she started saying. “We studied at Hogwarts, though not in the same year.” Glancing back at the woman, she immediately continued. “This is her son, Regulus.”

The woman smiled somewhat stiffly at Harry, and he immediately did the half-bow he remembered seeing his own father use with other purebloods. The dark-haired boy repeated the same gesture. 

“I am pleased to meet you, young man,” Walburga greeted, vaguely scrutinizing and hard-eyed. “One of the first Potters in recent years to be sorted into Slytherin, if what I have heard is correct?”

Harry nodded politely, making sure to accompany the gesture with a smile. The woman turned back towards his aunt only a few seconds later, asking about their plans for the day. Harry found himself looking at the other boy, who seemed so different from his own older brother — now visible and only a distance away, seemingly laughing with James — in both appearance and behaviour. 

Harry smiled and stretched out his hand. “I’m Harry, Harry Potter. Pleased to meet you.” 

The other boy nodded. He took a step forward and shook Harry’s hand. “Regulus Black,” he replied. His eyes widened, lifting his brow and sharpening his gaze ever so slightly. He seemed curious. “I’m pleased to meet you too.”

He reminded Harry of Severus, if only slightly. Perhaps distantly of Avery.

Harry smiled, and remained besides the other boy until Dorea and Charlus moved to leave the store again and return home.

Their parents arrived at Charlus and Dorea’s house the next day, apparating in late in the afternoon. Both looking considerably more worn out than Harry had seen them before. His mother, however, carrying the familiar bag he had seen now twice in dreams. 

It was only when he was reading fire-omens again for his father that night that he finally saw its contents. His father and mother having unboxed it in, apparently, preparation to relocate it the very next morning.

A cup with two handles, small and made out of gold. A badger prominently engraved at its centre.

An image of a coin rolled and rang within the flames, spinning on and on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I apologise for the considerably delay in posting this chapter (this last month has been rather hectic). A new chapter up at some point over the next few days. 
> 
> Again, thanks for all the comments and support received so far! Reading comments and people's thoughts on the story is honestly always fantastic. I'm glad to see that this story has caught the attention of people and seems interesting. 
> 
> Now, I wounded up editing recently a few bits of the last chapter in response to a few comments (that I honestly agreed with when reading the chapter myself). The changes aren't really major and really just edit away the references to 'normal' fiction I included at the library scene. Though I originally had planned to fully develop them into a separate subplot of their own, in retrospect they didn’t seem as important or related to the story as references to mythology and the like in other chapters. I'd like to thank the people that pointed it out in comments (these things are always useful, and I've made minor edits of grammar and spelling errors in response to a few others as well). 
> 
> Thanks to everyone for the comments and for following this story! The end of this first part of the story should be coming soon, over the next few chapters.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'd like to thank wonderful silentsum for betaing this chapter! It wouldn't have been nearly as clean or good without her help.

The image of the skull and snake featured on the cover of the Daily Prophet disappeared as Euphemia Potter pulled the newspaper away from view; furrowed brows and wide eyes revealing more about the string of news that had followed the first muggle-directed attack than any words used to describe it. It was a futile gesture — there were newspapers everywhere. 

Around them, Platform Nine and Three-Quarters bustled with activity despite the early hour. Snow fell slowly over the transparent glass that was the ceiling, giving the platform a deceptively soothing atmosphere. Families seemed to stand everywhere, saying their farewells to students who sported a myriad of expressions. It was the very last day of the holidays — something not everyone was bound to be happy about — and Harry and James had been taken to King’s Cross together with their parents and great aunt and uncle. The two of them seemed to have left off to greet some of Dorea’s extended family, leaving Harry and James waiting with their parents.

James stretched his neck and peered at the cover page of the Daily Prophet, curiosity plain to see. Harry followed his eyes and briefly glanced at the tucked newspaper, noting his mother’s worried expression. His father seemed more composed, closer to how Charlus and Dorea had proven to be after their initial shock and horror.

The unknown attackers yet to be caught and the strange symbol cast upon the sky — a snake coming out of a skull that had taken the Daily Prophet over three days to publish an image of despite Ministry efforts to the contrary — had quickly been followed by the emergence of the corpses of the supposed missing people. Two squibs — apparently also the people who had been missing since the cafeteria attack — had appeared dead just a few days later. Bringing the symbol and a string of conspiracies to prominence after its apparition yet again.

The word _‘terrorism’_ had quickly made an appearance alongside painstakingly long interviews of aurors and the few witnesses of the event. The smaller and less popular press had quickly started and featured wild conspiracy theories ranging from Ministry cover-ups of the event to intricate motivations related to current Wizengamot legislation hot topics.

Amongst the insanity of the events, which had apparently caused quite an impact on Muggle press, Harry’s parents had been oddly quiet. Only remarking on the amount of time it had taken the Daily Prophet to publish the photograph of the symbol found above the Muggle cafeteria where the attack had taken place and the apparent lack of transparency with the ongoing investigation. The string of articles had lasted for days, making it even to the very last day of holidays, whereupon Harry and James would be returning to Hogwarts.

“A snake slithering out of a skull? Who would think of using that as a symbol?” James asked. His voice was humorous, but disbelieving. As if not quite understanding why the symbol had been used or featured by the press.

“What does it mean, dad? Is it really the symbol the terrorists used to claim the attack?” James asked, voice getting louder.

His parents shared a look, much like the one they had shared when they had been picked up from Charlus and Dorea’s house. It had taken Harry some time to realise that their parents most likely knew, a fact that hadn’t been quite easy to swallow. They _knew_ — if not the identity of the culprit, the organisation’s existence. It was the only possible reason why they had been so unnerved by the initial attack at the Muggle cafeteria attack.

“It is,” Fleamont replied calmly. “It is the symbol of the people who perpetrated the attack, a skull and a snake,” he explained. “A mark, a sign used to claim and intimidate.”

James nodded, eyebrows set into a deep frown.

His twin had been horrified by the events, Harry knew. Hurt plain to see as news had kept on being published and images of the attack released. Worry, pain, and empathy intermixed in a way that got shown in his every feature and word. Increased afterwards by the news of the two murdered squibs, who had apparently been cast out of their families and fully embraced Muggle culture.

It was an odd thing to see, and though Harry had never really seen his twin that worried, he couldn’t help but wonder whether his own reaction had been equal. He had been horrified by the violence of it all, by the blood and the death and the murder. He had seen more of it, however, than James had. Far more. There had been Bricius Stebbins and Muggles warring against each other. Odd dreams about the past and the cup his parents had acquired and promptly placed in their Gringotts vault. Strange figures and Gudgeon’s future battered body under the Whomping Willow.

It wasn’t that he didn’t feel horrified — not at all — but the strange thought persisted. The blood found on the walls of the cafeteria, surprisingly published by the Daily Prophet in photographs showing the destruction the day following the attack, hadn’t shocked him as viscerally as it had his twin. His horror at the events and sights had been left contained within instead, and it had been hard to tell whether that was a good or a bad thing. It just wasn’t something he had seen his housemates really _do_ that way in Slytherin, making for a strange thought overall.

Perhaps, and odder still, had been the different reaction he had seen from James upon hearing the news versus his usual reaction when he told him about his dreams. Was there a disconnection between how Harry told and narrated what he had seen, and his twin’s or other people’s reactions?

_Was there?_

Their mother shared a glance with their father before looking at them. The atmosphere at the station grew slightly more hectic as people kept apparating and flooing in. At a distance, Harry saw his great aunt and uncle approaching them again. They seemed to have been talking to the small crowd of Blacks at the other end of the platform, the figure of Walburga Black, matriarch and mother of James’ best friend distinctive even amongst the crowd. 

“We shouldn’t reveal this, but since the both of you ought to know…” Euphemia muttered. She stopped to look at Fleamont, who took the gesture as a sign for him to continue.

“It is interesting that the newspapers aren’t publishing the fact that this isn’t the first time the symbol has been seen,” he said.

Harry’s eyes widened, this being his turn to look with disbelief. “It isn’t?” he asked.

“Where was it used before?” James asked, barely able to contain his curiosity.

“It was seen once on paper during the nineteen-fifties, drawn by a witness to a murder that occurred at the time,” Fleamont explained. “Nothing was made of it, however. It didn’t lead anywhere in the investigation that followed.” 

“Investigation?” James asked, looking as bewildered as himself Harry felt. “Who was murdered?”

“There was an investigation at the time?” Harry asked, “Why? What happened?”

Fleamont’s expression darkened, as if he was remembering a something that wasn’t quite pleasant. The corners of his mouth turned downwards with disgust, and he seemed to stop and think.

It was Charlus who continued, having finally reached them once again. Whatever they had wanted to say before joining them once again forgotten in between the conversation.

“A number of high-profile murders took place during the 1950s. These seemed to continue throughout much of the 1960s as well, though somewhat less prominently and fewer in number,” his great uncle explained. He shared a look with Fleamont.

“During one of them, I think a victim — a muggleborn woman — that managed to escape from the people who had taken her captive described that one of them had a strange mark upon their body. A tattoo of the same mark found on the sky after the attack,” Fleamont finished saying.

“Why was she targeted?” James asked after a few seconds. “Was it the same people who attacked the muggles a few days ago?”

Fleamont shook his head, “nothing came of it.” He seemed sad, almost. “She turned up dead just a few days later. Nothing eventually came out of the investigation, it was suspected to be a hate-motivated attack.”

“Though curiously, she apparently had a hand in planning a failed early variant of the Squib Rights marches,” Euphemia finished for him. “Which eventually became what we know today, if you both remember.”

James nodded, and Harry couldn’t help but do the same. The mood turned sombre, and it was a few seconds before any of them spoke again.  

“Anyways, the both of you should probably go sit inside the train whilst there is still time,” Dorea said suddenly. She smiled kindly, attempting to break the dour mood. “It is better to avoid being late, even if just for the space.”

They both nodded, and Harry soon found himself following his twin to the Hogwarts Express almost absentmindedly. Losing sight of James when, after waving their goodbyes to their parents and great aunt and uncle, he raced towards Black and the mousy brown-haired boy he often spent time with. Both seemed to be entering one of the carriages, and a brief glance of James with his trunk dragging behind him soon gave way to the total absence of Harry’s twin.

Harry stopped, not quite sure what to do. He looked around — something he suspected to be a useless gesture with the growing crowd — in an attempt to find a trace of his twin. The crowd around him grew, and students started to make their way towards the train.

What should he do? Should he enter the train and search for his twin in order to sit with him? Was that something James expected of him, or should he sit by himself? Perhaps attempt to find his roommates amidst it all? He could still remember how boring the train ride in September had been, how little he had been able to talk, and—

“Everything alright, Harry?”

Harry almost jumped when he heard a familiar voice behind him. Turning, he immediately saw the familiar figure that was his great uncle.

Harry shook his head slightly. “Everything is alright, I just lost track of James. I’m not quite sure whether I should look for my roommates — my friends — or attempt to find him in order to sit with him,” he explained.

Charlus smiled kindly. “Do whatever you would rather do, Harry. With such a long trip ahead of the both of you and after the holidays, one can hardly be blamed if they’d rather sit with their friends from school.”

Harry nodded. “I’m not sure if James will take it badly,” he said, suddenly remembering the way James had sometimes looked at Harry’s roommates at Hogwarts. “I’m not quite sure he likes my friends.”

Charlus frowned, “How is that important?” He shook his head. “You’re both twins, brothers. You will always have each other, no matter what. However, you can hardly spend your life at Hogwarts following behind your brother. It’d be impossible, given everything, for the both of you to have the same interests.”

A smile appeared once again on his great uncle’s face, seemingly brightening the air around him. “Don’t worry, he will understand. Sit with your friends, Harry. They wrote you letters, did they not?” 

Harry could only nod again, and felt a weight lifting off of his shoulders. His brother had looked at him strangely at times during Christmas, when he had replied to some of his friends’ letters. His opinion of Slytherins, no matter how subdued it might have been because of Harry’s own membership in the house, being quite clear. Even if he hadn’t done anything against Harry’s friends.

He smiled. “Thank you, uncle,” he said before turning to face the train.

“Before you go, Harry,” Charlus suddenly said, placing his right hand on Harry’s shoulder.

Turning, Harry was surprised to see Charlus’ serious expression. “Yes, uncle?” he asked, not quite knowing what to expect.

“Both Dorea and I wanted to tell you this before you headed back to Hogwarts, given everything you told and asked us in letters and how pained you looked at the events that… you know,” he started saying.

Harry frowned, earning an immediate well-meaning laugh from his uncle in response.

“Don’t think it was impossible to see — Dorea noticed immediately how worried you looked because of the attack at the cafeteria. Even if it was more subdued and hidden when compared to your brother’s reaction.”

Harry stared at his uncle and waited for him to continue.

“Curiosity isn’t a crime, Harry. If you ever want to know about something, know that you can always ask us. We will do our very best to tell you whatever we know, much like when you asked us via letter about the Knights of Walpurgis and the Order of the Phoenix,” he explained. “We are here for you, Harry.”

Charlus then frowned, his good mood giving way to a deep worry. “Related with that… Harry…” he half-muttered, looking down at the floor. A few seconds of silence went by before he kneeled before Harry, placing himself at eye level. “Perhaps it is the first time you’ll hear me telling you this, but I can’t stress this enough. Even though I know your parents likely haven’t told it to you before.”

When he spoke again his voice was deeper.

“I’ve seen people broken in all kind of terribly ways, Harry,” Charlus started saying, voice taking a more serious aspect to it. “Be careful about how deeply you tie yourself to your visions. No matter what happens none of it is your fault.” 

Harry’s heart skipped a beat. “Uncle? I don’t—”

Charlus shook his head. “Perhaps it is not so, but remember that; just in case one day you get too involved with things,” he said. An understanding smile made its way to his uncle’s lips. “Things aren’t as simple as your father, as my nephew, would like you to believe. It isn’t just about political factions and terrorism, about light or the dark.” 

“It’s about you, Harry. If you’re not careful, and you allow yourself to be used by other people — whomever they might be — without thought, and you’ll one day end up empty. Broken. Blaming yourself for things that ought not to be your responsibility."

Charlus stopped here to take a deep breath, and consciously seemed to shift his position to a more confident one.

“Be very careful, Harry, and don’t think you ought to hold the fate of the world on your shoulders just because of your gift,” he continued. “No matter how much importance your parents and the headmaster, Dumbledore, may place in your abilities. What is happening in our society, the violence and pain, is a longer-standing problem than what you might think.”

“A longer-standing problem?” he asked. He thought he knew what his uncle was talking about, having overheard certain debates within his house, but…

“Certain… disagreements over the nature of magic and the legality of some aspects of it have existed since decades ago,” Charlus explained. “They precede even me, and are more complex than what might seem at first glance.”

Harry’s eyes widened as his heart raced on. He found himself smiling as he finally sensed what his great uncle wanted to say.

Charlus empathised his next words, adding depth to the serious tone of voice with which he was speaking. “Above it all you are family. Not a seer, or a powerful visionary. Family,” he said, stopping to mark each word. “So if you ever need anything, whether advice or help, just come to us. Dorea and I will always be able and happy to help.”

Harry nodded dumbly, not quite knowing what to say. Charlus got back onto his feet after a few seconds and smiled widely.

“Anyways,” he said, gesturing towards the train. “I’m sure your friends are waiting for you, Harry. Don’t let me keep you. Hogwarts awaits.”

Harry smiled. “Thank you, uncle, I’ll remember to” he said.

“Oh, before you go, Harry,” Charlus suddenly said, making Harry stop before he could turn towards the train. 

“Uncle?” 

“Dorea and I forgot to give you this during the holidays, but we wanted to gift you something we found two months ago, when we were traveling through Greece,” he started explaining whilst searching for something in his robe’s pocket.  Soon he had pulled out a small brown package, its wrapping paper surprisingly simple.

“It’s a gift. Something we found at a store of a friend of ours at the Wizarding Community of Greece.”

Harry smiled as he took the package, taking pains to open it as gently as he could. Soon he was holding a silver necklace holding a pendant that depicted a snake — a python, by the looks of it — curling around some sort of staff. It was a simple thing, with only a thin silver chain holding it together. The pendant’s back was completely flat, with a phrase carved on it.

Harry put the necklace on — it was perhaps the best thing he had received as a gift over the holidays — and turned the pendant around to read the phrase carved on it. The small letters reading a simple _‘the oracle neither conceals, nor reveals, but indicates’._ A reference, no doubt. Something similar to what had been written on the back of the reproduction his aunt and uncle had sent together with their letter months back.

“It’s something you’ll have no doubt heard about in relation to one of the places we visited — Delphi,” Charlus explained. “We had it charmed so it’ll protect you against intruders in the mind until you are able to do so on your own. Even give away your location to Dorea and I if you ever so wish to or are in need of help.”

Charlus smile became wider. “It also has the unique benefit of reminding you about fitting in with your house,” he finally added with a well-meaning jokingly.

A hug and some minutes later Harry found himself walking through the inside of the carriages, looking for wherever his friends might be sitting at.

It didn’t take him long to find them, and before he knew it Harry found himself being invited into a compartment by a joyful-looking Mulciber. Within it were Avery and Severus, the latter looking somewhat tired, with Stebbins nowhere to be seen. Avery and Mulciber seemed to have been talking animatedly, with Severus listening in silently, closed book atop his lap as if in preparation for the train ride. 

Harry couldn’t help but frown slightly as he entered the compartment. How late had he entered the train?

“Harry,” Avery greeted. “I trust you had good holidays?” he asked, voice sounding neutral.

Harry nodded slightly, not quite sure what to reply that he hadn’t said already in letters, as he took a seat besides Severus.

“By the way you described your holidays they seemed almost nightmarish, Harry,” Mulciber said, voice sounding unbelieving and surprised. “Did you really spend all that time at the library studying for classes?”

Harry nodded, remembering the half-true way he had described what he had been having to study. “Yes, I barely managed to get out of the house at all,” he finally answered. “My parents wanted me to start learning occlumency early, rather than at summer, like they originally wanted.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Mulciber muttered, looking slightly unsure despite his confident tone of voice.

“I’ll admit I was surprised to not see you with your brother at some of the parties we were invited to, even if he’s your parents heir” Avery said. “I still don’t quite understand why your parents didn’t allow you to attend the ball at my manor.”

“Yes, that was quite surprising,” Mulciber interrupted. “Part of me can’t help but think you’re somewhat lucky to have avoided those. Politics, I assume?”

Harry only smiled, uncertain of what to say.

“Though then again,” Mulciber continued, “most of the parties and balls were somewhat different this year with how many news were focusing on that Muggle attack.” He then smiled, as if remembering something that had been humorous. “Only the one that professor Riddle attended — the one hosted by the Blacks — seemed somewhat different. At least for me, I almost didn’t remember that the professor wore formal robes outside Hogwarts, instead of those teaching ones.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Was it as talked about as it seemed in Diagon Alley?” he asked, surprised. “I know I remembered overhearing people talking about it, not to mention my parents, but I didn’t imagine it would have been that talked about.”

Mulciber nodded. “It was everywhere,” he complained. “I remember hearing my father, or well, our parents,” he said, gesturing at Avery and him, “theorizing about it a fair amount.” 

“A cover-up?” Harry guessed, remembering what his own parents had been talking about. “My parents were discussing the possibilities of the ministry hiding some details related to the event.”

Avery and Mulciber shared a brief look.

“Somewhat,” Avery said, not wasting a second. He turned to look at Harry again. “I didn’t quite get to hear everything my father thought about it, but he certainly touched on the Ministry’s reactions to the attack. Particularly when compared to different attacks, or even how the Daily Prophet reported on the Pure-Blood riots years ago.” 

Harry nodded. They sounded truthful, but…

“What did you think about it?” Harry asked, deciding to ignore the look the two had shared. “About the attack, I mean.” 

He didn’t really know anyone as well connected as the parents of his two roommates were, except, perhaps, Lucius Malfoy, if what he had heard about the older Slytherin was true. Anything they ought to have thought about the attack was something that would be interesting to hear.

Mulciber’s expression contorted in seeming annoyance. “I think it was overblown,” he said. “At the end of the day it was just Muggles,” he specified. 

Harry admitted to being surprised by the starkly different opinion from those he had heard over the holidays.

“It was interesting, however, that it took the Daily Prophet that long to publish the symbol,” Avery said. He didn’t sound like he disagreed, “What do you think, Severus?” the brown-haired boy said, turning towards the still-silent black haired Slytherin. 

“My… mother doesn’t quite follow these things anymore,” the Slytherin said, posture and tone of voice making it seem as if he was admitting to something shameful. He didn’t add much else, though didn’t seem to disagree with what Mulciber had said.

“They were just Muggles, they’re different from us. Worse,” Mulciber repeated. “I don’t quite see why it mattered at all. Not in comparison to what happened to Stebbins’ father, or even that Auror.”

“It was the symbol used, you know the one” Avery said noncommittally. His voice leveled and controlled.

“Was it really found related to a murder over ten years ago?” Harry asked, curious. “I wonder what it really means, what is behind it,” he then muttered.

Avery nodded, humming as if saying yes. “However, the most interesting thing about it, is, I think — and it is something my father said I happen to agree with — the division it shows. Both by the people that caused it and the press.”

“Does it show division?” Harry asked, not quite able to contain the question. He hadn’t hear about such a thing other than from his uncle. “I don’t remember my parents mentioning anything about that.”

Avery smiled in a way slightly akin to a grimace. “That doesn’t really surprise, Harry. You would be surprised to hear how divided opinions really are.”

Mulciber smiled. “They deserved it,” he said with a malicious edge to his voice.  It was obvious enough that Harry could have imagined how his twin would have jumped at such an implication. “Muggles are a pest, they—”

“I know,” Avery interrupted. “You know how…” he then continued, stopping in the middle of the sentence. “Anyways, I think it was _interesting_ , particularly that it happened.”

Mulciber seemed to be suddenly in thought, as if having remembered something. “You know, Avery, how much have your parents told you about what happened during the fifties and sixties?”

Avery glanced at his friend quickly, expression uncertain. “Not all that much,” he admitted after a few seconds. He focused on Mulciber, as if asking why the question. It wasn’t a question that had ever seemed to be brought up between them. “Barely anything at all, he’s secretive about it all. I know that he was close to professor Riddle throughout it all, ever since they both left it all. You know that already, though,” he muttered.

“I was wondering since… It isn’t something that is ever really brought up in the media, is it?” Mulciber asked, doubt expression looking strange on the face of the usually confident boy.

“I don’t know much about it, probably,” Severus suddenly said. Harry turned surprised towards his friend, he hadn’t said anything throughout all of the conversation. “Though I have heard from my mother that apparently, the series of murders that occurred to progressive and traditionalist Wizengamot and Ministry members were particularly bloody.”

Harry frowned, and the compartment’s door suddenly opened, revealing a sullen-looking Stebbins. Outside, the Hogwarts Express started moving, distracting the four other boys away from the dour conversation topic and back onto the awaiting term.

 

* * *

 

The holiday break hadn’t changed Hogwarts a bit.

With their arrival and the recommencing of the new term came the continuation of classes, making everything starkly interesting in just how similar everything was to how the previous term had gone. History of Magic, Astronomy,  Transfiguration, Herbology, Potions, Defence…  The mixtures of theory and practice continued on, powering through and reaching the middle of the set textbooks for most of the classes and surpassing them in some. The only big surprise really being the somewhat increasingly interesting Charms classes. Something that had only started now that they had finally moved on past the introductory theory they had started with. Brought down, if anything, due to the fact that Harry had already experimented with some of the spells by himself.

Defence had firmly set itself as one of the classes he enjoyed the most — a fact likely heightened by the extra reading Harry had immediately resumed doing upon returning to the castle at the library. Going as far as to read as much as he could manage of the topics ahead in the book they had been set. Spells, theory, and even facts pertaining to body posture and strategy — an area of the subject that seemed fascinating, if a bit too complex for him at the moment — all interconnecting together in ways he wouldn’t have been able to imagine. Intensified, then, by professor Riddle’s teaching style. Harry was practically certain he was the best at the subject out of his other housemates. Not even Severus or Mulciber could compare.

Transfiguration had kept being as interesting as it had seemed at the beginning of the year, even if he couldn’t sometimes see the point to some of the things they practiced transfiguration of. It was fascinating — changing something into something completely different, that was — and Harry couldn’t wait to get to learn some of the more advanced things that laid ahead. It was James, however, who had ended up topping the class. His brother was effectively a genius in the subject. Going as far as to having stayed behind after some classes to ask further questions relating to the material. An amazing sight, perhaps, considering how different they both were when it came to studying.

The return to the routine he had enjoyed before the holidays had come as a bigger respite than Harry had expected it would. A welcome change away from the trying Yule holidays he had endured. Soothing, even. Calming. Something undeniable despite his interest in divination.

The varied classes, so _varied_ by nature — something even Herbology, one of Harry’s less liked subjects, managed — giving him a sense of accomplishment he had missed. Made only better by the wonderful difference that having his roommates, his friends, around really made. Severus’ company when studying at the library or elsewhere. Avery and Mulciber’s conversations and jokes about all manner of things.

Stranger, however, was how his relationship with his brother hadn’t really _changed_ since Christmas. They still talked every now and again — though less than at home because of their different houses — but despite that…

Harry loved his brother. He did. But after the grey holidays, he hadn’t quite expected contact between them to continue being so grey in turn. Harry knew he was likely too focused on divination and attempting to carry on and continue working on his scrying project. On his studies. Avoiding Rosier, even. Whereas James seemed to have become oddly popular with the other Gryffindors and was — Harry was willing to bet — working on some sort of personal project as well. Something which he had likely dragged Black, Pettigrew, and maybe Remus Lupin into.

There _had_ to be a reason for why he had seen them at the library so often during the first week, and whereas Lupin was somewhat of a familiar sight out of the first year students usually there…

He knew James didn’t usually enter the massive room, though did just enough to not make him a stranger within a library. Enough to keep his grades up to the level their parents expected at least from the both of them. But Black? He hadn’t seen the Gryffindor inside the library _once_ in the first term. The boy just didn’t seem like the studious type. He seemed to boisterous, too sportsmanlike and active to really enjoy it.

Avery had quickly shared a suspicion upon hearing Harry’s suspicions a week after their return to Hogwarts, and Severus had been quick to agree.

“They’re planning something,” he had said. His voice confident in a way only the brown haired boy seemed to be able to do.

It hadn’t taken long for him to explain the rest of his reasoning.

“I’m not sure about how your brother is, Harry, but from what I’ve heard and seen about Black… They are planning something.”

 

* * *

 

Mulciber’s hands were shaking ever so slightly as he held up and read the Saturday morning edition of the Daily Prophet. Expression giving away the shock he felt despite the boy’s best attempts at the stoic-like mask Avery had perfected. He read aloud, despite the gruesome clarity depicted by the photograph of a hung corpse in the front cover.    Harry glanced away from his copy of _‘Magic Hieroglyphs and Logograms’_ with a frown, focusing on the expression worn by his fellow Slytherin.

“The body of Ex-Minister Nobby Leach was found this morning at the atrium of the Ministry of Magic,” Mulciber read, managing to keep his voice steady. He continued on. “Though the perpetrators remain unknown, it was confirmed by the Auror Office that the Ex-Minister for Magic had been declared missing since yesterday.”

Stebbins, who had been sitting silently before Mulciber had started reading, looked incredulous, and Harry couldn’t help but feel much of the same.

“Leach? Nobby Leach?” he asked. “Found dead?”

Mulciber paused and nodded nearly imperceptibly before he continued to read the article. Harry felt his heart stop.

“Auror Alastor Moody revealed that the victim’s body showed signs of extensive nerve damage due to the Torture curse, in addition to multiple wounds and cuts,” Mulciber continued. His pace started slowing down, and Harry found himself leaning in closer.

“Though motives remain unclear, the public area in which the victim’s body was left have made current hypothesis centre on the possibility of revenge. This, however, was criticized by one Rufus Scrimgeour, who earlier this morning remarked that the same snake-and-skull mark was found—” 

Harry breathed out, not quite knowing what to think of the article and the fact that an ex-Minister for Magic had been found dead.

Everyone knew who Nobby Leach was. The man had been the first Muggle-born Minister for Magic to ever hold office, eventually seeing his political career end as a result of the beginning of the Squib Rights marches and the Pure-blood riots. Found dead this morning at the Ministry itself together with the same mark as the Muggle attack on the sky. 

It was unbelievable, _huge_ , and judging by the whispers that could be heard all around the Great Hall most other students seemed to think the same. Only the older Slytherins seemed more subdued, and even then…

Just what was going on in Magical Britain? Barely a month had passed since the attack at the Muggle cafeteria, and now a prominent political figure had been killed. A member of the more progressive faction in the Wizengamot, if what he had heard about the man was correct. Worse, no one knew _who_ had carried out the attack, and only that the same mark had been left behind as a claim. The same skull with a snake slithering out of it.

“The same mark” Harry muttered. His comment earning only an affirmative nod from Avery, who seemed to be teetering on the edge of surprise rather than shock or horror.

The shock seemed to carry on through the Great Hall, making the level of noise started rising, with Gryffindors being the loudest. Around him, Slytherins immediately followed suit. Turning away from their previous conversations to focus on the surprising news. One of them — a girl Harry recognized as Bertha Jorkins — had a particularly spiteful look on her. Her friends were either nodding or leaning on, carrying out the same barely-hidden conversation that everyone around Harry was.

He detachedly looked around, not quite aware of whatever Avery and Mulciber were saying. Barely managing to take in half of the things he was overhearing.

_‘Was the mark found before?’_

_‘Yes, in that Muggle attack. A huge skull with a serpent protruding from its mouth. What do you think—’_

_‘I heard a rumour that some people, you know, some seventh and sixth years, know what the mark means—’_

_‘Shht! Don’t let Yaxley hear you’_

_‘Did you hear? The Knights of Walpurgis condemned the attack already. Professor Riddle—’_  

_‘But other than the fact an Ex-Minister has been killed, can it be really said that anything was lost? Leach always—’_

_‘Leach was a Mudblood. The man deserved it.’_

_‘Hung, how horrifying! And at the Ministry, too! How couldn’t they catch them? My father has always said that Aurors—’_

It didn’t take long for Harry to decide to return to the Slytherin common room in an attempt to flee from the atmosphere under the pretense of picking up something to study. It was _noisy_ , altogether too noisy, and the buzzing fearful atmosphere was distracting him away of both the book he had been attempting to read and his thoughts. Closing the thick book, he was surprised to see Severus look at him questioningly. It didn’t take long for the other boy to follow his idea, arguing that he wanted to get an early start on professor Slughorn’s essay.

The Slytherin Common Room, mostly deserted at this time, lacked much of the same buzz the Great Hall. No doubt a benefit of the relatively early time. Only a few older students were around — Harry could only clearly recognize Malfoy and Rowle amongst them. They seemed to be in some sort of discussion with two seventh years, both of which seemed to be fairly dissatisfied. Close to the fireplaces sat Rosier and his group of friends, with the former laughing about something as the others egged him on. 

It was only a few seconds until Rosier seemed to have spotted him across the room. His pace quickened. He felt weak. Overwhelmed. 

Harry made his way towards their room Severus right besides him. The other boy seemed to be somewhat conflicted, more so than some of the others he had seen at the Great Hall. They started descending the stairs that led to the dorms. 

It was only once they reached their dorm that Severus finally spoke. The conflicted look was mostly gone, however. Substituted instead by a more normal neutral expression. 

“Do you want to go to the library, Harry? It’s a bit earlier than usual, but maybe we could start on the Defence or Potions essay we were set,” he asked.

“Of course. Sorry for making you leave the Great Hall that early, I was a bit overwhelmed by all the noise.”

Severus nodded. “It isn’t a problem, I wanted to go to continue studying potions today anyways.”

Harry smiled. “Thank you, Sev,” he said whilst he gathered his potions textbook to put in his bag, making sure to include the copy of _‘Divination Around the World, Volume IV’_ he had found at home. Having proven far more detailed than anything else he had found on the topic of scrying — reason for which his parents had allowed him to take it with him.

The thought of studying divination uplifted Harry’s mood — a surprising thought after Christmas — and spirited his thoughts away from the photograph published by the Daily Prophet and the Whomping Willow that had been haunting him since before Christmas. From Gudgeon and the rest of students daft enough to approach the dangerous tree.

Rosier had gotten up by the time they had entered the common room once again. He was leaning against one of the walls, expectant gaze on the sole set of stairs that descended to the different dorms. He was waiting for someone. He grinned as soon as he saw Harry alongside Severus.

Harry very nearly froze as he saw the third year approach, though managed to start reaching for his wand almost immediately. That the last time he had seen the third year at the Dungeons had been a disaster didn’t mean that he ought to do nothing. Much like the hexes and taunts the other had directed at him in the halls.

Rosier stopped abruptly when he was half way through to Harry, however. The motive being made immediately clear when the third year glanced to his left, at the area of the common room where Lucius Malfoy and the other older Slytherins had been sitting down. 

Lucius Malfoy — head boy — was staring. Grey eyes looking colder than Harry had ever seen them before. He was practically identical to Abraxas, with very few differences separating him from his now-deceased father from what Harry could remember.

“Rosier, you know what Professor Riddle said,” came the head boy’s only words.

Rosier paled and immediately retreated back towards his friends. Harry glanced briefly at Severus, and they both started making their way out of the common room and towards the library once again.

Behind them Rosier glared, brown eyes focused on Harry.

It was only later that day, before lunch was to start in the Great Hall, that Harry caught up with the reading on scrying that he had started at home. More particularly, on how to _start_ practicing water scrying. The skill he had been dying to start practicing and learning about for months already. Unreliable in what it showed — it sometimes showed things that were not to come to pass — yet useful in seeing past, present, and future.

 _Scrying_ , which he wanted to attempt to do, after he had set up a basin in order to do it correctly. With which he’d be able to see things about himself and about multiple other things. Gather information — if he could make sense of it — about what was going on, Professor Riddle, the strange cup his parents had ended up with…

He’d need to try to set up something in which to practice it. A bowl or basin with runes carved onto it in arithmantic sequences was the basis of what was needed. If what he had read over Christmas was correct, however, elements like the day were also important. Even encompassing things such as the _type_ of water — hard or soft — to use, as well as other ingredients. The blood of the user being an important binding element amongst the potential list.

Blood. 

The sole thought of using blood in the water mixture and runes was enough to make Harry doubt. He had only ever heard from his parents. Blood uses in less-than-clear rituals and even spells was frowned upon, he knew. Regardless, he needed to keep going. He couldn’t allow himself to stagnate. He needed to learn more, _see_ more, and pyromancy and cards only got one so far. 

Bookshelves towering around him, Harry turned another page of the book. Besides him, Severus continued writing down potions notes. He felt distracted.

Nobby Leach had found dead that very morning, together with the same mark found in the other attack.

Just what was going on?

By the end of the day, Harry had managed to finish both the Potions and another Transfiguration paper they had been set. Defence, together with Charms, still remaining to be done.

He left the library with Severus in the mid-afternoon, quickly finding his friends in the Slytherin common room — now noisier than before, and seemingly buzzing with rumours — in a heated game of Wizard’s chess. Returning to the game, with Harry getting defeated a few time due to his still lesser experience, once they had finished having dinner at the Great Hall. Severus, despite playing two games, instead preferring to bring out a leather-bound brown Potions book to read. No one approached Harry at the dorms this time. As if spellbound away, neither Rosier nor his group of friends approached. Instead only directly a few taunts. 

That night, Harry found himself falling asleep quickly. The dream that greeted him — a strange abstract thing unlike most of the things he ever remembered — proving strange. 

 

_The familiar white station was visible for only a few seconds before it crumbled away into darkness. It quickly changed, revealing a somewhat familiar-looking room. Ruined and dark-stained walls surrounded an empty hall-like space. The wallpaper on the walls hung loosely and was torn in places. Its colour having long since faded into a murky monotone grey. The wooden floor was old, its wood worn out and untended. Floorboards having long lost their original polish and shine. A dusty smell permeated the air._

_Curtains had been shut over the the tall windows on the sides of the room, only letting in the faintest slivers of moonlight. Cobwebs clung to the corners and what little furniture there was covered in dust. A Muggle painting presided over the empty room, the face of the dark-haired man within unmoving and cold._

_A person was kneeling at the room’s very centre within a series of intricate concentric circles layered with runes, painted with a thick-looking substance Harry couldn’t quite recognise._

_He had dreamt this before — he knew. Only once, though, with two people within instead of one._

_The kneeling figure — a man, judging by his figure— was covered by a heavy-looking black robe, face completely shadowed over by its hood. The material looked rough and uncouth, dirtied with something Harry wasn’t quite able to make out. Around him were a number of bowls, each filled with something different. In front of him, a knife._

_The figure was completely still and unmoving, pressed over some of the runes painted within the circles. He was whispering something, Harry realised. A latin formula only evident by the rhythmic repetition of words Harry only caught briefly. Only managing to make out the telltale sound of ‘sangis’ and ‘fortia’._

_The kneeling man repeated the rhythmic formula over and over again before shifting his position slightly. He sat up, picking up the knife — a simple-looking thing with a pommel and blade made out of black metal — as he changed the formula into English. Holding the knife up, he brought it crashing down into his left wrist. Blood spurted out and onto the circle, spilling over the runes with a strange slowness upon touching the layered circles. Letting out nothing so much as a wince, the man instead continued his whispering of the formula, grabbing the knife with his left before stabbing into his right wrist. Blood fell onto the floor and the circle, and—_

_A bright light filled the room. Harry closed his eyes, not managing to bear its intensity, and overheard the man’s shout of pain._

_By the time the light disappeared the man had crumpled onto the floor, eyes shut in what looked like a particularly pained look. The air around him darkened. His form, the space opposite Harry, assumed the shape of a man swallowed by a darkness that writhed like a swarm of flies._

_When the man rose again his shape looked different. Red eyes peered beneath the heavy hood, pupils contorted into slits whilst what little skin was visible looked a sickly pale._

_The room crashed as the man rose up and reached for his wand, figures and shapes disappearing into a black morass that quickly gave way to a strange brightly-lit place. Not the train platform Harry had often found himself in, but a maze of glass._

_The labyrinth’s exit — a tall rudimentary arch made of stone — was visible at a far corner, yet that knowledge itself served for nothing. Tall walls of glass reached far up into what Harry supposed was the ceiling. Unmoving and fully transparent, revealing the emptiness within the huge labyrinth, they presented a very particular problem. Knowledge of the exit gate’s location on a side was completely useless. The end destination obscured by the confusing task of getting there._

_Harry took a step forwards and touched the glass wall closest to him. The material was cold. Tough. There wasn’t a single indentation in the pane of glass._

_Harry grit his teeth. Could he—?_

_He took a deep breath and brought his arm crashing down onto the transparent wall. When it didn’t even reverberate upon impact he repeated the gesture and hit the wall again in an attempt to break it in some way, to ease the way forwards. Then again and again, until Harry’s arm was throbbing painfully. The glass, despite it all, remained unscathed. It soon became clear that no amount of pressure would change the shape of the strange glass or allow one to break through. It was immutable. Unmoving._

_Resigning himself to walk, he turned to face what he thought was a corridor and started walking. With each step distant glass walls abruptly staining with colours that disappeared seconds later. Hues of purples and greens giving way to dark greys and blacks before becoming transparent again._

_It wasn’t long before Harry suddenly found himself running face-first into a wall. The way, despite the clarity of the gate in the distance beyond, was closed._

_The maze of glass maze collapsed before he could continue his way through the odd dream. Darkness surrounded Harry, oppressive and thick, before the familiar form of the empty train platform was revealed once more. A shadow gazed at him — and the space around Harry morphed once more, revealing within seconds the familiar streets of Diagon Alley._

_It was empty. Smoke billowed all around, its origin unknown, hinting at a fire close behind. Up in the sky, a snake slithered out of a colossal skull composed of what looked like emerald stars. The pale green of the mark clearly visible against the dark sky._

 

Harry awoke drenched in sweat. The dorm was dark, the only sounds within being Stebbins’ faint snores along with more gentle ones coming from the black lake. The great squid swam outside, its tentacles being the only visible part of its body as it swam quite close to the window outside, peering into another window.

Harry reached for his wand and quickly cast the _tempus_ charm. Bright numbers immediately appeared up above — four A.M.

Harry turned and burrowed himself into one of his bed’s pillows, twisting and turning himself into a more comfortable position. When, fifteen minutes later, he hadn’t managed to fall asleep again, he reached out of his bed. Quickly taking out of the trunk his copy of ‘Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms’ at the bed’s opposite end, he began to read.

He’d write the dream down in his leather-bound notebook once he finished the chapter.

 

* * *

 

The air outside of the Herbology greenhouses was bitter and cold, the complete opposite the damp and heavy atmosphere that covered the very air within. Blanketing it in a way feeling nearly oppressive due to the strange humid heat that reigned. Instead, smells were fresh and clear outside. Light. A fact Harry couldn’t be more thankful for after the seemingly eternal double Herbology period, regardless of his slight dislike of the cold Hogwarts endured during the winter months. Besides him, his friends seemed to think much of the same. With Stebbins — still oddly silent despite everything — and Avery being the only ones that seemed to have a fondness for the subject.

“I don’t quite understand how you manage to pay attention all the time at Herbology,” Mulciber complained loudly. He was visually tired, dark bags under his eyes and slouched back revealing the little sleep he seemed to have managed to catch that night. “It’s boring, nearly as bad as History of Magic.”

Avery didn’t hesitate to answer. “It’s hardly as bad as History of Magic, Marcus,” Avery stated matter-of-factly whilst glancing briefly at their friend. “It’s hardly my favourite subject — Defence or Charms are at the top for me — and though it might seem dull, it’s probably ranks as one of the most useful things to learn.”

Mulciber scowled slightly, expression filled with disbelief. He almost looked betrayed. “How could it, just because of the properties of plants and their benefits? Herbology might be as useless as…!”

“Hardly, just think about it,” Avery continued. Mulciber simply stared, not seeming to really believe a word of what his friend was saying.

“I can’t claim Herbology as one of my favourite subjects exactly either, Marcus” Severus budged in. “But in order to create potions or save oneself if all else fails knowing what a plant can do could save one’s life. I imagine that’s what Alden means.” His tone of voice was monotone, and barely seemed to leave any room for discussion.

Avery nodded immediately at that, whereas Mulciber quickly shook his head.

“Come on, you can’t be serious,” Mulciber muttered. “Alden? Sev?” He immediately turned to Harry at their lack of response. “At least you’ll agree with me, right, Harry? Herbology—. Alden, Sev. You can’t mean that. I know Severus is particularly fond of potions, and Stebbins of Herbology, but that aside—.”

Harry laughed, not quite being able to help himself. At the other side of the group Stebbins did the same. Something which was surprising by the rarity of the sound over the last months.

Mulciber, noticing the other’s laugh immediately, turned to the frail-looking boy. “I honestly can’t comprehend it, Stebbins,” he quickly said. “How on earth can you prefer Herbology to—” 

The group pressed on, following the string of students into the castle. The Ravenclaws diverted soon enough — their next period was to be with Hufflepuff — and before Harry realized he was going up the first set of staircases.

The walk through the castle to their Transfiguration class didn’t take long despite the four floor difference from where they had entered to where they needed to go. Changing stairs strangely collaboratively despite the utterly unhelpful nature that they usually seemed to have. The air grew warmer as they went further into the castle, losing the bitter edges it had on the outside. It wouldn’t be surprising if it were to snow soon — the sole _feeling_ the air seemed to certainly give credit to the idea.

Outside, through the windows to their left, some of the fields surrounding the Hogwarts grounds were clearly visible. The grass — of a strange green-brown murky colour rather than the vivid green Harry remembered — nearly completely devoid of students. To an edge of the fields, at top of an all-too-familiar hill, stood the Whomping Willow. Its knotted and thick wood, looking deformed and ancient, crowning the entire area.

Harry had heard the rumors, of course. The whispers at the Slytherin common room and gossip from others. Bone-chilling in what they foretold the start of.

“The Whomping Willow doesn’t have anyone around it,” Harry muttered, eyes focused on the strange-looking tree. Its knotted-looking branches and lack of leaves setting it apart from nearly anything he had seen before.

Mulciber caught what he meant almost immediately. “Surprising, isn’t it? I think it started becoming popular amongst Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors.”

Harry frowned, and the other Slytherin immediately smiled wryly in response. “Oh, don’t worry, I think much of the same.” 

The corridor they were in gave a sharp turn left, revealing the set of stairs they were to walk through in order to reach the area of the fourth floor where their class was. They started walking towards it, and lost sight of the strange tree. 

“Frank Longbottom was dared by an older Gryffindor, I hear,” Avery said after a few moments of silence. “In turn, he dragged his group of friends and started the whole mess. Made worse in turn when it expanded through both his house and Hufflepuff.” 

He seemed to disapprove to a extent that seemed almost mocking. His thoughts on the matter written all over the usually stoic boy’s face.

“What can one really expect from Gryffindors? The lot of them are ridiculous,” Mulciber exclaimed. “It’s a wonder no one has died yet, the way that tree is. Have you seen it move?”

“I think that’s why it’s a dare, Marcus,” Avery stated. Mulciber immediately stared at him.

“I overheard that someone almost did. Mary MacDonald,” quavered Stebbins. Harry’s eyes widened and he turned to stare at the boy. 

“The Gryffindor?” he asked aloud, voice almost a half-mutter. He licked his lips nervously. His heart started racing. Its beat loud enough to make him feel it. 

Stebbins nodded. “She was there with a few friends, I think. Almost got hit by one of the branches.”

“Altogether unsurprising from someone like her,” Avery stated. “She barely manages as it is, Mudblood that she is.”

Mulciber nodded emphatically.

Severus seemed to sigh. “A seventh year, Yaxley, managed to touch the trunk yesterday,” he said. “Rowle was apparently saying this morning he’d follow suit. Lucius Malfoy refused to, though.”

“It isn’t that surprising if you think how they both are, though, Sev,” Mulciber reckoned. “From how Yaxley behaves in the common room… Is it true? That he dabbled a bit too much into trying—”

“Likely, going by how he seems to behave. My father certainly thought so this Christmas,” Avery stated, causing the other boy to hum seemingly affirmatively. 

“Emma Vanity almost got hit too, didn’t she?” Stebbins quickly followed, blurting out his words. “I heard just yesterday. Did she dare Rosier and his group to it too?”

“I’m not sure,” Mulciber mused. “But it wouldn’t surprise me with how she seems to be managing the Quidditch team.” 

The conversation drifted off quickly to the current Quidditch season — likely to be lost yet again, apparently — and Harry found himself unable to quite pay attention to what his friends were saying. He had heard the rumours. It was impossible not to, with how the strange tree was becoming popular.

How long did he have until Gudgeon attempted it, and what should he do?

Another corridor later, they finally reached the Transfiguration classroom. It wasn’t too full, despite most of the first year Slytherins seeming to have arrived already. Harry quickly took his seat besides Avery — Severus and Mulciber sat in front of them — and started taking out parchment and the single textbook set for the class, waiting for the class to start. He then took out the homework they had been set by professor McGonagall the last week, and carefully placed at a side of his table. 

Gryffindors started streaming in, Harry’s brother not among them quite yet. Lily Evans was amongst the first of her house to reach the class, and was walking hand-in-hand with another Gryffindor girl. Though seeming distracted, she stopped besides Harry’s table and smiled at him as way of greeting. Lingering for a few seconds before going on to her usual table at the front of the class as soon as Harry repeated the gesture back. Outside the sky started to clear, and bright light fell into the classroom as clouds parted.

Harry leaned back, quickly spotting his brother enter the room with his three friends. Though they were silent, strangely, he didn’t look Harry’s way. Harry’s mind bustled and raced on as it went over the knotted tree and what he had heard and _seen_ about it. 

He didn’t know when it could happen, but if it was becoming popular, Gudgeon—

“You know, Harry…”

Harry turned towards his roommate brusquely, feeling surprised. The stream of students entering the class thinned down. It wouldn’t be too long before the class started.

Harry frowned. “Is anything wrong?” he asked, not quite knowing what to say.

“I like you, Harry. You may be too serious, but you’re fun to be around. Particularly as Mulciber can barely take anything seriously as it is. This is why I’ll warn you, despite the fact that you should probably already know this. No matter how your family is and you’ve been educated.”

A few seconds went by in total silence, with Harry waiting for the other boy to continue with whatever he wanted to say.

“This has nothing to do with the Sacred Twenty-Eight, or how some families and people in our house look down on your grandfather. I don’t care why he got your family removed from the registry, or what you do with your free time,” Avery continued. “But if you don’t want others to join in with Rosier, don’t get close to Mudbloods. People can misinterpret that sort of thing.” 

Harry stared, and felt uncomfortable for the first time in the year. Sweat starting to form in his brow. He had been willingly ignoring the comments he had heard about and from his house so far, but…

“Don’t take this personally, Harry. I really don’t care what you do or think, but this is how things work,” the other concluded. Turning to face the teacher’s desk and blackboard at the front of the class before Harry could say anything.

Professor McGonagall entered with a powerful stride, reaching the teacher’s desk before Harry could really process what she was saying. She waved her wand, and a piece of chalk started floating towards the blackboard in order to write the page they ought to turn to. A loud _bang_ rang throughout the room just as it touched the black surface, followed by a cloud of smoke.

Harry closed his eyes. Besides him, a few students screamed. McGonagall gasped loudly at the front. One student — Pettigrew, if he recognized the voice correctly — laughed loudly. The dissipating smoke revealed a phrase painted in deep red on one of the walls.

Harry frowned and focused on it, trying to make out the words. _Maurd— Maraun—._

Another scream, this time of a horrified Slytherin girl, made him lose focus. He turned in its direction, and quickly came to realise what was wrong. Harry raised his hands to touch his hair, and — yes, there it was. It was particularly messy, and judging by the multicoloured mess resting atop everyone else’s heads in the rest of the class…

“My hair!” another girl shrilled.

Black’s laughs joined Pettigrew. James, at the other side of the classroom, smiled.

Near-chaos erupted when McGonagall attempted to revert the colours back to normal just a few minutes, only making them change once again at random. Though mostly, into vivid reds and golds. Harry heard his twin break out into a laugh at the other side of the room, his own hair a deep purple and grey. He focused once more on the red letters painted on the wall. 

_‘The Marauders are proud to present the grand opening to…’_

It didn’t take long for McGonagall to issue detentions, with Howlers directed at James, Pettigrew, and Black swiftly making an appearance.

It was three days until the colours started fading, time by which the story — much like the multi-coloured mess that was the students’ hair — had propagated throughout the entire school. 

 

* * *

 

Professor Riddle entered the Defence classroom as early as ever, formal black robes billowing around him as his polished shoes clicked on the stone floor. The students’ eyes followed him as he made his way to the front of the classroom, glued to the man’s every action. Gold streams of light fell through the windows of the tower and into the classroom within, setting the furniture ablaze with hues of yellow, orange, and red. The sun had started rising, its lateness a remnant of the short days of winter, soon to be discarded in favour of spring. Beyond them were views of the eastern and southern sides of Hogwarts, though most of it of the black lake.

The professor came to a stop besides the blackboard, black robes fluttering into stillness. He scanned the students sitting down, eyes heavy with some sort of nearly-concealed intensity that wasn’t exactly a rare thing to see on the man. The slight slant and lines in his otherwise sharp features hinting at the depth of his thoughts.

He remained silent for a few seconds as he counted the students present — no one was late — before waving his wand at a piece of chalk and turning once again. The first year students leaned forwards in preparation, dipping their quills into ink. Professor Riddle wasn’t known lenient or slow classes, and neither were the clubs he organized extra classes for. Everything was to start at the exact time, typically with the exposition of theory followed by practical exercises. He was precise and pragmatic, allowing no time to be wasted on the things other teachers typically did in the other subjects. His approach as different as could be from Slughorn’s in Potions or Flitwick’s in Charms.

The descriptions Harry had been told by older students at the beginning of the year stood powerfully even now, validated and continued even months after the year had started. Professor Riddle was strict in a way that had seemed to prove beneficial to all. It wasn’t a wonder that he was considered to be the best Defence teacher Hogwarts had had in a long time.

The chalk started writing a title on the blackboard — _‘The Verdimillious Charm’_ — and students immediately started copying it down on parchment. The scratching sound quills made filling the room. 

Professor Riddle moved to a side of the blackboard, confidence written on his very posture. His dark eyes scanned the group of first years as the chalk continued writing on, this time a subtitle and explanation for the aims of the class. He pushed his lips in a silent show of determination, and waited until all scratching had ceased before considering starting to speak.

Professor Riddle leaned back against the wall besides the blackboard, posture relaxing. Arms crossing on his chest in a way that could only be described as graceful.

“As you got to know last week, today we will begin practicing the Verdimillious Charm,” he began explaining, “together with its two other variants — _Verdimillious Duo_ and _Verdimillious Tria_.”

The chalk started writing the explanation given by the professor as he talked, arranging the blackboard in three different columns.

 “The Verdimillious Charm — with the incantation _Verdimillious_ — is cast with a forward slash. Precipitating a green energy that can both do damage to opponents and reveal hidden things,” professor Riddle continued. “Though similar, the potency and uses of each of these can vary, making learning each variant useful in order to fit one’s purposes.”

Different diagrams depicting wand movements started appearing on the blackboard.

“If one casts the charm whilst aiming at a specific target it will cause sparks or an electrical discharge that is green in colour, exploding around the target and causing slight harm,” professor Riddle explained, gesturing at the depicted movement.

“However, if waving the wand in a circular motion overhead, an orb of glowing green energy will be thrown from the wand tip. This will explode several meters away in a flash of light, illuminating the entire room for a short period of time.” Professor Riddle stopped talking for a few seconds, allowing the students to catch up. 

Harry felt his hand starting to cramp up, though nothing as bad as when he attempted to note down the seemingly random notes professor Binns gave in History of Magic.

“So long as this emerald light lasts, objects or platforms hidden away by Dark Magic will be revealed, making them temporarily visible and tangible,” the professor finally continued. “Differences between this charm and its variants are few, though significant. Potency of the spell will vary depending on the modifier used, as will the colour of the spell.” 

 Professor Riddle uncrossed his arms and leaned away from the wall again. Turning, he gestured at the blackboard gain. Outside, the yellows and oranges were giving way to a brighter yellow as the sun finally started properly rising.

 _“Verdimillious Duo_ can have two forms — green on a target and red as light — Any hidden objects revealed will, however, remain visible after it fades. Its incantation is identical, with only _Duo_ added at its end, as are the wand movements.”

He then turned further to his side, and gestured to the third column the chalk had drawn up. “ _Vermidillious Tria_ , if cast with a forwards slash, will go a further distance than its precursors. Making it particularly useful in duelling and against any opponent.”

“The pronunciation of the incantation is based upon and stems from Latin _‘Viridis’_ , meaning ‘green’ and French _‘Mille’_ , meaning ‘a thousand’. The details of the exact pronunciation for each modifier, as well as the exact speed and direction of the wand movements, will be written on the board,” Professor Riddle finally said, turning towards the class once again.

Crossing his arms once again in a relaxed manner, he waited once more until most of the other students seemed to have finished writing down the notes before resuming his explanation. He quickly erased parts of the blackboard with a wave of his wand, leaving only visible the details on the wand movement and incantations used for the charm and its modifiers. The explanation resumed, this time touching on specific examples of uses of the charm. Further detailing both frequency of use in duelling — which wasn’t much in its first two forms due to its limited range — and potency when revealing things otherwise hidden by dark magic.

Harry rushed to finish his notes in silence, managing to note down most of the explanation and details on the board word-for-word.

It wasn’t until a few minutes later, once twenty to thirty minutes of class time had passed from what Harry could tell, that the piece of chalk froze in mid-air. The explanation had finished completely, and soon they’d turn to the practical aspect of the class that professor Riddle often emphasized.

Professor Riddle walked towards the other side of the classroom, observing the students who were still writing down notes in silence. He smiled cordially once they finished, and gestured to the practice dummies already prepared.

“Now, we will spend the rest of the class along with the following two practicing the three different variants of the _Verdimillious_ Charm. If you would divide yourselves into groups, we can start by…”

The class promptly divided itself into distinct groups of two, each set to practice the basic form of the charm on a practice dummy in turns. Harry found himself next to Severus once more, whilst Avery paired up with Mulciber and Stebbins with a Slytherin girl. Amongst the Gryffindors the groups went as expected, and Harry quickly spotted his brother at the other end of the class next to Black. Lily wounded up with Lupin, and Pettigrew, the last of his brother’s friends, ended up having to pair with Mary MacDonald.

Severus glanced at their practice dummy. “Do you want to go first?” he asked in a somewhat low voice.

“I don’t particularly mind,” Harry answered. He looked at the practice dummy, “I can go after you.”

Severus nodded and readied himself. He took out his wand — made out of thin and elegant-looking dark wood — and held it tightly between his hands. He slashed it forwards. “ _Verdimillious_!” 

A spurt of green sparks came out, though not enough to hit the practice dummy three meters away. He deflated slightly and took a step back before glancing at Harry. 

Harry stepped forwards and quickly grabbed hold of his own holly wand. Taking a deep breath in, he quickly went through the information professor Riddle had written on the board. The incantation was _‘verdimillious’_ , to be cast with a forward slash movement.

He opened his eyes and focused on the target dummy. His fingers tightened around his wand as he slashed it forwards.

“ _Verdimillious,_ ” he said as evenly as he could. A spurt of green sparks dashed forwards, reaching only half the distance between him and the training dummy. Harry sighed and took a step back.

“The wand movement wasn’t quite correct, Mr. Potter,” came a sudden voice behind him. “The same could be said of you, Mr. Snape,”

Harry and Severus turned around to face their Head of House. “Sir?” Harry asked.

“Your forward slash was shorter than required, making it the reason why the  Charm didn’t quite hit the target,” he explained. “The slash, if you remember earlier classes in the year, is most commonly intended to be longer in Charms of an offensive nature.” He accompanied this with a gesture of his hand, indicating approximately the length one should slash their wand forwards for the charm to be successfully cast.

“However, Mr. Snape, you suffer from an altogether different problem,” he continued. “Your slash was nearly perfect, but you did so too slowly. For the _Verdimillious_ charm to be cast, the forwards slash needs to be as quick as it is precise.”

“If I may,” he said formally as he stepped towards the training dummy Severus and Harry had chosen.

Harry and Severus stepped back as he drew his wand out of a holster strapped to his wrist. It was pale in colour, almost entirely white, and had an unsymmetrically shaped base.

He slashed his wand forward. “ _Verdimillious_ ” he said, enunciating the word clearly. An emerald discharge almost immediately hit the training dummy, sending sparks and some smoke all around it after hitting it.

Harry’s eyes widened. He hadn’t expected the spell to have such an effect. Not when it was taught in the first year.

Professor Riddle’s wand disappeared into its holster almost immediately, and he turned back to face them. “Remember the correct speed and length of the forward slash and you will find yourselves able to cast the spell with a similar strength. Mr. Snape, Mr. Potter?” 

Severus nodded and stepped forwards, positioning himself in the same way as before. He held his wand up and slashed it forwards. “ _Verdimillious_ ” he exclaimed again, this time pronouncing the spell’s incantation in a slightly lower tone. 

The spurt of green sparks came out once again, and this time managed to hit the training dummy full on. They were quite thin, however, and didn’t seem to carry the same strength they had when professor Riddle had cast the spell. 

Professor Riddle smiled. “Very good, Mr. Snape. Keep practicing and you will find yourself mastering it quite soon,” he said. “Now, Mr. Potter?” he quickly added, glancing at Harry. 

Harry nodded and stepped forwards. If his speed and pronunciation had been perfect, he only needed to make the forwards slash longer to make the spell work. 

He clutched his wand and quickly slashed it forwards, consciously drawing the arc longer than before. “ _Verdimillious_!” 

A green discharge quickly hit the training dummy, its strength closer to how Professor Riddle’s own had looked despite the lack of sparks in the aftermath. 

Professor Riddle’s smile broadened. “Very well done, Mr. Potter. Almost perfect,” he said. He observed them for a few seconds in silence before glancing at the rest of the class. They had been the first two to cast the spell successfully. “Five points to Slytherin to each of you for the speed at which you both mastered the _Verdimillious_ charm.

Harry found himself grinning. He hadn’t expected it to manage to cast it that quickly, since it usually to took him a few tries to learn how to cast successfully a spell. 

“Thank you, Sir,” Harry said, as Severus nodded besides him.

“What should we do now, Sir?” Severus asked, before their Head of House turned away from them. 

The Defence Professor seemed to pause at the question, though it didn’t take him long to answer. “You can practice the spell’s other form, cast in a slow circular motion, one of its variants, or continue practicing this particular form. Whichever the both of you would prefer practicing,” he quickly answered. 

“We will be practicing this spell for a few more lessons, as you know. Though if you master each form of the variants before I can set you other spells or exercises to practice.”

Severus and nodded, “Thank you, Sir.”

Professor Riddle only nodded in response and walked away to help the pair of students next to them. 

Severus turned to face the training dummy again and readied himself to keep practicing the spell. Harry smiled and quickly followed suit.

By the end of the class the both of them had managed to reach a certain degree of confidence with the spell, managing to cast it in both of its forms repeatedly. It didn’t take long before they started packing in preparation for their next class — Potions, in the Slytherin’s case — the process, however, going slower by virtue of the mid-morning break between them. 

Harry had already started leaving the classroom together with his friends when James and Black bolted towards the door, very nearly crashing against Severus. Severus braced for impact — it was too late to move out of the Gryffindor’s way. A second went by. The attention of the remaining students was immediately drawn to them, awaiting the impending scene. Then another second, and James managed a surprising dodge; twisting out of the Slytherin’s way when there was barely half a meter between them. Severus lost his balance as a result and fell onto the floor, letting out a quiet yet undignified yelp. James, not quite managing to control the turn, did much of the same, and crashed face-first through the open doorway and to the top of the stairs.

Gasps were heard around the room, and the reactions were immediate. Harry reached down to help Severus stand up again as Black did much of the same, vaulting towards James. Though Severus didn’t look hurt, it was plain to see that he wasn’t happy about the situation. Avery openly glared at the two boys, Mulciber imitating the other’s actions with a tad more mocking expression. Behind them, Stebbins remained silent. The other two friends of the two Gryffindors, Pettigrew and Lupin, hadn’t quite approached yet. Their surprise probably being the main reason for their distance.

“Watch it, Potter!” Mulciber shouted.

Black frowned and pulled a face. “Hey! It wasn’t our fault that—”

“That what? That you couldn’t be bothered with walking normally out of the classroom like everybody else?” Mulciber retorted. He seemed to be sneering. “Can’t you even look where you’re going?” 

“Look—” Black quickly started. 

James, who had already gotten up, placed a hand on his shoulder. “No, Siri, it’s okay,” he said.

Sirius turned to face him with disbelief. “But James, are you just going to ignore what he’s—!”

“No, it’s—,” James stopped and sighed. He glanced at Severus before turning his eyes towards Harry, only managing to maintain eye contact briefly before looking again at his friend. “Siri, remember what we were meaning to—” 

Black’s eyes widened. “The Whomping Willow!” he exclaimed. He grinned and eyed the four Slytherins briefly before glancing at the stairs. “We still have time during the break, don’t we?”

James glanced at Harry once again, briefly, before looking down and frowning. “I think? We really are only supposed to do it today though, so—” he started saying. He stopped before he could finish and gazed upwards. 

There had been no tell-tale sound of steps, yet professor Riddle had approached them all the same. Doing so silently enough that Harry hadn’t noticed despite his position. The remaining students within the classroom stared in silence, seeming to await some sort of conclusion. Lily Evans was frowning, eyes casting worried glances at Severus. Pettigrew looked ready to bolt towards Harry’s brother, likely only being stopped by Professor Riddle’s presence. Lupin was frowning, worried expression plain to see.

“Mr. Potter.” Professor Riddle had a neutral expression, and though his voice had sounded clinical and detached it was clear that the man wasn’t happy with the scene. “I trust there isn’t a problem?”

“I—, ah—” James stammered, not quite managing to get a full sentence out. He started fidgeting.

James glanced around nervously, and Harry suddenly found himself frozen in place. He didn’t like seeing his brother so nervous, but he had been the one to crash into Severus. No apologies had been exchanged despite it all, and judging by his friend’s expression it wasn’t something likely to be forgotten anytime soon. Then there was the fact of where they were… 

Seconds crawled by before anyone replied, and Harry found himself looking worriedly at his twin. Whomping Willow—?

“It’s okay, Sir, we were just leaving,” Sirius said with as evenly a voice as he could muster.

Professor Riddle raised an eyebrow. “Do be aware of the rules against running in hallways, Mr. Potter. The same goes for you, Mr. Black, if you both wish to avoid an unfortunate accident.”

“Of course,” James managed to say. “I—,”

Professor Riddle crossed his arms, expression as neutral as before, “I believe that will be all for today then?” He shifted his posture, and Harry suddenly found himself remembering the way he remembered seeing some of his father’s business partners carry themselves in negotiations. He had never really seen their Defence teacher look as imposing.

James looked down. “Of course, sir.”

“Very well, Mr. Potter, though make sure not to forget. Taking five points from Gryffindor will, perhaps, help drive the lesson home.”

The words had a certain cold undertone that was otherwise hidden beneath the neutral tone, revealing if only slightly the professor’s opinion about the scene.

Sirius gaped and looked wide-eyed at the Defence professor, though didn’t dare to say anything. It was only after that Professor Riddle had turned around and started retreating back into his classroom that he turned towards James once again. 

He gestured towards the stairs. “James, should we—?” 

James nodded, and though it took him a while he soon was smiling again. Avery grunted in his position besides Harry, and Mulciber muttered something under his breath as Severus stared at the two Gryffindors.

James nodded, and the two Gryffindors bolted down the staircase without exchanging a single other word. Mulciber sneered openly. Harry, still focusing too much in his twin’s previous words, didn’t quite notice fully.

“The nerve! Sorry to say this, Harry, but your brother and Black are—”

Whomping Willow. That was what Black had said, wasn’t it? Whomping Willow, meaning—

“Harry?” 

Harry glanced up and met the other Slytherin’s eyes. Mulciber looked slightly concerned, “Harry, are you alright?”

His brother wouldn’t really do it, wouldn’t he? Not when he had told him about what he had seen in his dream, about— 

“Harry?” This time it was Severus, concern shown plainly in his face.

Harry shook his head. “Yes, I…” he stammered. 

Should he let this go? He didn’t want anything to happen to his brother, not when he could still practically see the gruesome image of Davey Gudgeon beneath the tree. Spine bent at an odd angle, blood seeping onto the grass, bone breaking through skin… 

Harry gulped. “Sorry, I need to talk with my brother,” he looked at his friends and forced himself to smile. The gesture mustn’t have been particularly convincing, since it only made their frowns deepen. “Don’t wait for me. I’ll catch up with the four of you in Transfiguration.”

Harry didn’t wait for a reply and dashed down the stairs, clasping the edges of his school bag to make sure nothing within fell down. His friends simply stared behind him, surprised. They hadn’t expected the otherwise quiet Slytherin to run.  

It didn’t take Harry long to reach the base of the tower. He didn’t look upwards, not really thinking about whether one of his roommates would follow him. He quickly looked around him in an attempt to spot James. The tower was connected to two corridors, one in front of the stairs and the other…

Harry’s eyes widened. There! 

He ran forwards. James was making his way through the corridor to Harry’s left besides Sirius. Judging by the way they were moving, too slow for a run yet not slow enough to be considered a normal walking pace, the both of them were laughing about something.

“James!” Harry shouted, heart racing. He almost had caught him.

James stopped and turned, eyes widening. Besides him Sirius did the same, open expression revealing just how surprised he was at seeing Harry approach them. Reaching them, Harry came to a stop and quickly rested his hands on his knees. He panted heavily, tired by the sudden strain that had been running all the way here.

“Harry?” James asked incredulously. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have to go to class?”

“Transfiguration, yes, but—” Harry breathed out, “—I needed to talk to you.”

James frowned. “Is it that important?” he asked, quickly sharing a look with Black. The other boy looked impatient, much as he had at the Defence classroom.

“We probably don’t have much time before classes start, and—” 

Harry pressed his lips into a thin line. Not much time? James was going in a different direction than the rest of the Gryffindors, and towards—! 

“You’re going to the Whomping Willow, aren’t you, James?” 

James immediately looked down and away from Harry, guilty expression clear as day. “Harry, you don’t understand, I—.” 

Harry frowned, feeling anger boil within for the first time in months. “No, are you, James?”

Was he going to attempt it, after everything he had told him about would would happen? After what he knew would happen to one of their schoolmates?  After everything James knew Harry saw and had to cope with, due to not being able to warn anybody? Something would happen eventually at the Whomping Willow, Harry knew. Something that would end up with the death of a student, yet James was willing to risk—.

Harry clenched his fist. James, seeming to notice immediately, glanced up at Harry, shamed look morphing into one of surprise.

“Harry?” his twin asked, looking more uncertain than he ever had before.

Harry didn’t reply, instead looking away from his brother’s familiar face. He didn’t want to see the surprise in it or the shame. It was clear that James wanted to test out the Whomping Willow despite what he had told him. 

Harry felt himself shake, though wasn’t quite sure _why_ he was. Was it anger? Betrayal? Just what exactly was the sudden cloud of emotions muddying his thoughts?

Did his warnings mean nothing to his twin?

“We were, what’s the problem? Everyone’s been doing it.”

Harry glanced up and saw that Sirius’ shock had now changed into indignation. The Gryffindor was frowning, brows furrowed almost as much as they had when James had almost hit Severus. His lips were pressed into a thin line, edges turned downwards. 

“You must understand, Potter,” the boy continued. “Nearly everyone at Gryffindor has been dared to touch the Whomping Willow and stay beneath it for as long as possible. We can’t just turn down Frank Longbottom’s dare.”

James turned towards Sirius, expression clouded with a myriad of conflicting emotions. Harry, for the first time, couldn’t quite read it beyond the uncertainty his eyes seemed to show. 

“So you were…” Harry muttered. He unclenched his fists, suddenly feeling dizzy. He looked away from the two Gryffindors, dazed. “Did my warning mean that little… I…”

James looked panicked. “No, Harry. Listen, I—!”

Harry looked away from James, not wanting to meet his eyes. He had told him. Revealed every single detail about the dream to him, as he had to his parents and Dumbledore before his failed attempt to give Davey Gudgeon a warning. He _knew_. Had known since before the horrible period that the Yule holidays had been, and yet… 

“Come on, James. What’s the problem anyways?” Sirius budged in. Nothing has happened at the tree yet, what are the chances? If Bertha Jorkins managed to touch it—”

James looked at his friend and shook his head. “It’s not about that, Siri. Just… Come on, Harry. You know it’s not about that!” 

Harry shook his head. “No, I…” He felt as if there was some sort of stone stuck in his throat, preventing him from swallowing properly. An uncomfortable sensation settled in his stomach.

“I remember your warning about what would happen to Gudgeon. I know it! Just—. What could happen?” James stammered. He shook his head. “Come on, Harry! A dare’s a dare. The Whomping Willow’s scary, but pretty much harmless!”

Harry took a step back, not quite processing his twin’s words. He heard the sound of footsteps behind him, though only really became aware of the presence of the fourth person by the way James’ and Black’s eyes suddenly fixing at a point behind him.

Black’s face contorted into a sneer. “What do you want, Snape? This doesn’t concern you.”

James said nothing, however, and instead turned to look at Harry again. Eyes wide and mouth gaping in a way that showed exactly how nervous or desperate he was. His hair was messier than it had been before the class, Harry realised, though he wasn’t sure when it had devolved into the chaos that it was now.

Severus quickly glared at the two Gryffindors. “Harry ran off. I was worried something could happen, so I—” he started saying in a monotone-sounding drawl. When Harry turned, he realized his friend was frowning quite deeply, no doubt still angry about the way he had been made fall onto the floor.

“Harry, come on—!” James shouted, interrupting both Severus and Sirius before either of them could continue talking.

Sirius turned to look at his friend, shocked. “James, why are you so nervous about it? You know we’ve been wanting to touch the Whomping Willow like the rest for ages.”

Harry frowned at that, feeling his anger suddenly return. James had ignored his warning despite everything. He had _ignored it_ , completely choosing to forget the danger Harry had told him about and instead decided to march through to it without any sense of self-preservation. As if what Harry had seen wasn’t really truly important. Something normal and utterly ignorable instead of the death of someone their age, bludgeoned to death by—.

“It’s not that, Siri. I—,” James stuttered. His eyes darted back towards his friend before returning to Harry’s once more. “Harry!”

Even worse, James was nervous and worried because of the way he was acting. By the way Harry had chased after them between classes. Not because of his decision to go to the Whomping Willow, but instead because he had been confronted by Harry about it.

Harry gritted his teeth. The uncomfortable sensation disappeared almost entirely, substituted this time by hot rage. He clenched his fists, seeing red.

“Did my warning mean nothing to you, James?” Harry half-shouted. “Was what I told you about my dream, about all of my dreams, that unimportant that you thought you could completely ignore it?” 

James flinched. “No, Harry. It wasn’t. Isn’t. I just—”

“But it was, wasn’t it?” Harry continued. He felt his voice rise. “You didn’t care at all!”

By this point, Harry was sure that the other two boys — Severus and Black — were likely staring at them in confusion.

“I did, Harry. Come on, you’re being unreasonable. It’s just a game!”

Harry ignored James and instead turned towards the wall. Deciding to focus on its grey stones in an attempt to focus and think.

Harry knew he had never reacted like that in public, not even with his family, though he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. He felt his heart start beating faster. No, he had instead always buried his frustration at James’ incomprehension. At the way that over the years and ever since the beginning of the first term they had slowly seemed to drift apart. Shared moments at their manor’s gardens and library disappearing into dust. Abandoned up until the point where Harry had practically had the same contact with his twin during the Yule holidays than he had during term time. 

James hadn’t even _asked_ if he felt okay. Even his questions about new dreams had started dying down with time. After he had retold him the dream about Gudgeon he hadn’t approached him once — an ironic fact considering his great-uncle Charlus seemed to have noticed almost immediately about it. Even his friends had noticed he had been overly worried more than once, and they hadn’t even known what Harry had been worried over. 

Then, after his failed attempt at warning Gudgeon, he had barely approached him at all. Instead choosing to focus on—.

“Come on, Harry. At least answer me! I took your dream seriously, how couldn’t I? But you always look so worried about everything, so consumed by it that I…”

Harry bit his lip, sending a pang of pain through his body. A metallic taste filled his mouth, reaching his tongue. He looked back at James, frown contorting his face into an ugly angry expression. Seconds crawled by, without a single one of them daring to say a thing.

“It’s worse, we barely have talked over the last year despite everything that’s been going on,” Harry heard himself say, surprised his voice had gone quiet and even — neutral — instead of rising  into another shout. His eyes widened. “You just barely listen before telling me the same thing over and over again. Completely ignoring that I can see people suffering immensely, yet can do nothing about it.” 

James’ expression dropped, making his twin look particularly pained. Harry ignored it, and instead continued speaking. Not quite managing to stop the stream of thoughts that were quickly turning into words.

“You never do. Merlin, we barely talk to each other at all now. You just parrot again and again what mother and father tell us, not caring whatsoever about trying to prevent—”

“But I do, Harry! It’s breaking you, that’s plain to see for everyone,” James shouted. “Mother and father know as well, you know? It isn’t just Charlus and Dorea. I know. I can see it. You’ve changed so much ever since your dreams started, and I—” 

“And then they’ve been getting worse, and you’ve completely ignored that…” he interrupted, ignoring his twin’s words.

“I haven’t!” James repeated. He seemed less worried now, closer to the anger Harry himself was feeling. “How could you say that? I care about you, Harry!”

“No you don’t! You only ever just tell me to not tell anyone and quickly forget about it. How couldn’t you? You’re not the one that must deal with—”

“Don’t you understand anything, Harry? I wish I could help you, I really do, but you know as well as I do that you must keep quiet about it! If people — if the public — learnt about…,” he started saying, only to suddenly stop when he realized abruptly they weren’t exactly alone. “No matter how painful you can’t do anything. You know that, Harry!” 

Harry flinched and stepped back. His anger dissipating into a murky sense of horror. He couldn’t do anything? Nothing at all? Was he doomed to just—

What had his great-uncle told him again? _‘Do what you meant to do’_? Professor Riddle had said something similar some time ago, too, hadn’t he? Something about stone and inaction and—

“My sleep is dear to me, and more dear this being of stone…” Harry started muttering underneath his breath. “As long as the agony and shame last, not to see, not to hear is for me the best fortune. So…”

“What are you talking about? Harry, come on, you understand as well as I do that—”

Professor Riddle _had_ said that. He had even explained the meaning of the entire poem. That a person who had the ability to act on knowledge, yet didn’t, was effectively just stone. Then there were the words he had read on the necklace his great aunt and uncle had gifted him from Greece — _‘the oracle neither conceals, nor reveals, but indicates’_ — as well as the things he had learnt about the oracle of Pythia. Divination theory encompassing books, stating more than clearly that the key to helping people through the sight was to—

Harry frowned. “Yes I can, James. I can, and you’d know if you had asked me about… about…” he stammered. 

He looked around. He was sick of James’ fake concern. About the way he ignored his every word and the worse things he saw kept happening over and over again. Sick of seeing people close to him suffer. Sick being unable to do a single thing about his visions, being only an expectation when he knew he could attempt _more._ Professor Riddle was right. He had been right over and over again. He had been the only person to really support him in Hogwarts other than Charlus, and—. 

He was sick of everything. _Sick_. He was dead tired about having to deal with everything by himself and not having support. Of the same constant advice instead of concern and understanding. Of the sheer _loneliness_ of it all.

A wild idea entered his mind, and he found himself immediately acting it out before he could think it through.

Harry smiled and unclenched his fists. James looked at him as if dazed, shocked by Harry’s sudden change of position.

“Harry, what—?”

Harry turned and stormed in the opposite direction before his twin had a chance to do anything. He could do it. He would show them. He was tired of allowing himself to simply drift along, not being able to take control of his own choices. Hadn’t the Sorting Hat said it at the beginning of term? Harry wanted to be _more_. More than just what he was now, a seer that was expected to follow along without a single opportunity to decide what to do.

Harry quickly became aware of the fact he was running, James following close behind with Severus and Black in turn on their tail. They didn’t say a word, likely shocked into silence.

“Wait, Harry!”

Harry rushed up the stairs. He knew where Gudgeon was — they had Transfiguration with Ravenclaw, after all — and made his way as quickly as possible to the classroom. James shouted for him to stop behind him, apologising as he begged him to talk things through. To sort it out.

It was five minutes before any of them reached the class, time by which Harry felt practically breathless. Pushing himself forwards only by force of sheer determination. Outside the classroom was a small gathering of Slytherins and Ravenclaws. Transfiguration hadn’t started yet, though the break was likely going to come to an end soon.

Harry came to a stop right in front of them and looked through the crowd. A group of three Ravenclaw girls… Stebbins, Avery, and Mulciber looking either surprised or concerned… Dirk Cresswell at a side, face buried into a book to the degree that only his pale brown hair was visible…

Harry’s eyes widened. There!

He started approaching the Ravenclaw even as he continued hearing James’ protests and shouts behind him. His twin was worried now, he realised, likely having caught up with what Harry wanted to do.

Harry smiled wryly and pressed on. Not allowing himself to even think about his twin’s concern and words. It was simply too bad.

He reached Gudgeon quickly, who in turn stared at him awkwardly. Close-set eyes and heavy eyebrows scrunched up in a way that denoted a mixture of anger and confusion. 

“Potter? What do you want?”His voice was as loud and grating as it always seemed to be. Filled with disbelief at what he no doubt considered a strange scene.

“Gudgeon,” Harry started, coming to a stop when he felt James grab his arm. His twin started to attempt to pull him away amidst audible protests, drawing to them the eyes of all of the students surrounding them.

“Don’t, Harry! You know that—”

Harry’s eyes darted to James’. He glared. “Leave me alone, James. I am able to and more than willing to do this. I’m tired of staying silent. I’ll prevent this if I can, and I—” 

James attempted to pull him away again, but Harry managed to shake him off. He turned to Gudgeon again, who was still staring at them in silence. James protested again, and— 

“Gudgeon. You might not believe me, but know that I am practically entirely certain about this. If you don’t want to suffer a painful death don’t, and I do mean don’t, get close to the Whomping Willow. Don’t even think of—!”

Gudgeon broke into a loud laugh. Obnoxious, just like the one Mulciber had complained about on the way to the first Defence Club meeting. Harry heard James curse behind him. Then, a second. Two. Three.

A Ravenclaw girl joined into Gudgeon’s laughter, and it quickly spread to the Ravenclaw’s other friends. The rest of the students around them stared, whilst Stebbins’ face contorted strangely.

“So _you_ were the one that sent me that ridiculous letter?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies again for the delay in posting this chapter. Thanks again to all of the people who have commented and been following the story! It's always great to see people's thoughts on the story. The chapter ended up being considerably longer than what I initially expected, but I couldn't bring myself to split it in half and reduce the contents in it. Regardless, I hope it was enjoyable. The following chapter should be up within this week. 
> 
> The quote in the beginning, _“The oracle neither conceals, nor reveals, but indicates”_ , is from Heraclitus in Plutarch, Moralia 404 AD.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to wonderful silentsum betaing this chapter! It wouldn't have been nearly as clean or good without her help.

Professor Dumbledore’s office was as bright as he remembered. It was filled with the same objects Harry had seen, casting an atmosphere of clutter into the room despite the strange order reigning within. Filling the large circular room and all its beautiful furniture with little noises. The silver instruments on spindle-legged tables whirred and emitted small puffs of smoke. The basin Harry recalled seeing during the first term was nowhere to be seen. In its place now there was a cabinet made out of some type of dark wood. The quality was obvious, but the paint that had once covered it was slightly worn, gilded edges seeming to have faded with time. Its doors were closed — likely hiding the basin Harry had recognized as a pensive months ago — though there was no lock.

The Sorting Hat rested unbothered atop one of the bookshelves closest to the large marble fireplace. The Headmaster’s phoenix slept peacefully besides it, its feathers looking duller than they had been before. The portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses covering the walls of the room displayed strange hectic-like activity. The majority of the people within were well awake. They seemed attentive and curious, though a myriad of different expressions could be caught on the faces of the wizards and witches of old. All gazing downwards as they paid close attention the three other people within the room.

Harry walked towards the centre of the room nervously, arms feeling unexpectedly heavy. He recognized them, and how could he not?

Outside, through the windows, the sky was mostly uncovered. The surprising lack of clouds in sight allowing for a bright light to shine into the room, lighting it in bright whites and yellows that did nothing to dispel the erratic beat of Harry’s heart. His palms feeling sweaty and cold despite the warmth within the office. Barely a few hours had gone by since the disaster that had been his attempt to warn Gudgeon directly of his dream, and the consequences hadn’t taken long to surface.

It took Harry a full five seconds before he dared to speak aloud. “You called for me, Professor?” he asked, voice quivering mid-sentence — an unexpected thing.

The question worked its charm immediately, and the three adults in the office turned to look at Harry. Professor Dumbledore’s eyes glinted in the midday sun in a way that made his expression seem kind. Of the other two adults, however — Harry’s own parents, Fleamont and Euphemia — the same couldn’t be said. They had hard eyes, particularly his mother. Her lips were pressed into thin lines, brows furrowed in a way that expressed anger. His father, however, seemed closer to concern, and though his lips were pressed as thinly as his mother’s his eyes were blown wide. Betraying a concern that Harry wasn’t exactly sure he had ever truly seen there. Between them, there was an empty chair. Purposefully placed there in expectation of his own appearance at the Headmaster’s office.

“Ah, Harry. Good Afternoon, sit down, if you may,” Dumbledore said with a tight smile, gesturing towards the chair in a sweeping motion. “I believe we have much to discuss.”

Harry gulped and nodded, deciding to quickly follow suit. His parents followed his action wordlessly, observing his approach. Euphemia’s lips tightened ever so slightly, and his father’s eyebrows frowned ever so deeper.

 

 

 

 

It was four, almost five, by the time Harry reached the Slytherin common room. Outside, though sun was starting to set, the moon had already risen far up into the sky. Its whiteness beautiful against the purplish blues and reds of dusk.

James hadn’t been waiting for him outside of Dumbledore’s office.

Harry felt anxious, on edge. His parent’s words hadn’t been kind, but neither had Professor Dumbledore’s. Topped off with the rumours bound to spread in the wake of his actions…

Harry pursed his lips into a thin line, very nearly wincing at the memory. His heart was still racing. Perhaps it wouldn’t be that bad. Not as much as Dumbledore had said it could potentially be. Perhaps rumours wouldn’t spread. Perhaps Davey Gudgeon would choose to follow Harry’s advice, rather than laugh.

By the time the familiar sight of the decadent, old-styled beauty of the common room greeted Harry, any hope of rumours not spreading proved to have been in vain.

The familiar blacks, silvers, and greens decorated the room, giving life to the elegantly carved wood of the furniture; rugs spread across the floor, its colours cast alight by the four large fireplaces. A school of fish swam peacefully outside of the windows, shapes barely visible with the light that escaped the room. Far into the depths, beyond the fish, in the pitch-black darkness, the merpeople’s village was fully out of view; hidden away by the shadows within the waters of the black lake. It was still beautiful, regardless, with the dim and somewhat tainted light highlighting the silhouettes of faraway fish. 

Harry walked through the common room in a haze, not noticing the people sitting within until it was too late. He had missed most of the classes of the day, and wanted to read over the material that he hadn’t covered as a result.

He found himself stopping fifteen seconds after he had entered the common room, close to the spiralling stairs that led to the dorms below. Suddenly aware of the people inside the common room. 

They weren’t many — not nearly as many as it saw later in weekdays or during weekends — yet they still were there. A half-full mixed group of students ranging from first to seventh year, his own friends amongst them. They were staring. All of them. Some with more obvious glances than the rest, but the fact remained. 

Staring in a nearly-complete silence only broken by the hushed of two third year girls on one of the sides.

Harry’s heart skipped a beat before resuming the frantic beating he had felt before arriving at the Headmaster’s office to talk with his parents and Professor Dumbledore. Biting his lip, he very nearly dashed downstairs. Not quite managing to think of anything but of potentially getting away from the odd and curious stares of his housemates.

Should he stay inside? Go to the library?

Barely five minutes passed before the library was chosen as the better option. Rosier would likely reappear in the common room, after all, and seeing the grating third year would hardly bode well if people were staring at him like—, like—

Worse, still. He didn’t feel the strength of will he had felt when he had warned Gudgeon that morning. Couldn’t muster it up, like he had with James. A fact leaving the possibility of seeing his dorm mates and _explaining_ feeling like ash.

Everyone in the common room had been staring. All of them. Even if they had pretended not to be. Curiosity about what had happened that morning made all the stronger by his absence following it.

He was rushing up the spiraling stairs before he knew it, the bag hanging from his left shoulder clutched tightly in his hands. Bumping into someone on the way up, he quickly apologised. Turning just enough to make the apology polite before continuing up the stairs. 

Behind him, Severus stared. Mouth open with the intention to say something. To ask.

Harry couldn’t quite bear to stop and wait in the common room.

 

* * *

 

Two days passed before Harry managed to corner James outside of their Potions class. Pulling his twin away from his friends before he had a chance to protest and taking him through the dungeons to a deserted corridor which was sufficiently far away from both the potions classroom and the Slytherin common room. Only a lone portrait depicting an old witch in very antiquated yet elegant clothing seemed to observe them. She did not speak, however, and seemed unbothered by their presence. Distracted with other things. 

He knew James had been avoiding him since their fight. It was clear he hadn’t wanted to talk to Harry, after all, and had even walked away and avoided him when Harry had attempted to approach him twice outside the Great Hall.

He couldn’t quite escape him now — a fact James seemed to feel mixed about, judging by the way his eyes had widened. The bewildered expression had lasted, too. Even now, away from the classroom Professor Slughorn always taught in and its strange floating jars, he still looked surprised. James’ mouth was hanging open, nostrils flaring. His eyes — hazel — bearing into Harry’s own green. 

_“You already know what I think, Harry.”_

_“I know, James, I just—,”_ Harry had stammered. _“I’m sorry that we fought like that. You’re my brother, but we’ve been so distant lately. Since Christmas, and before. Ever since…”_

The initial apologies for the distance between them over the year — a fact James reluctantly, but honestly, admitted — leading to meaner, harsher questions. He had wanted to explain to James his reasons again. He had to understand. He could, couldn’t he? Even after how they had fought, the last time. He could tell James had been worried, and at least that much had been fully clear. His voice had been taut throughout, with a thick undertone. His eyes carrying a concerned undercurrent and a stubborn glint.

It did not go well. Not at all, and Harry didn’t quite know how they wound up arguing again. James expression dropping and the stubborn as they continued on. Stubborn glint in his eyes growing as they did so, pushing him to do the same thing as Harry — help him — in the entirely wrong way.

_“There is a reason why you were supposed to keep silent about this, Harry, why can’t you see it? Just—. Merlin, Harry. Can’t you see that your gift puts you at risk by making you important? Mum and dad have already warned you enough times — they’ve been doing it for years! Once the Daily Prophet picks up on it and people, not just students, realise it’s true—”_

_“—Besides, who even gave you the idea to say something, anyways! Who even suggested it to you, when it was clear even to me that warning Gudgeon was a monumentally bad—”_

It didn’t take long for the both of them to get angry, and for Harry to feel the same sort of bubbling rage he had felt a days before, after Professor Riddle’s class. It didn’t last long, however. Instead changing into a familiar sense of murky horror at the thought that he’d never be able to escape. That, perhaps, he really would be doomed to watch horror occur without being able to do anything but bear it in silence.

Just what had happened to them? How had they ended up like this — shouting at each other, barely able to even discuss anything? What would their parents say, or Charlus and Dorea, for that matter? Just how had it happened?

He was sick of it all. Harry knew he was. Angry at the stubborn ignorance James maintained in his likely well-meaning intentions. His inability to really _listen_ to him and instead just repeating what Professor Dumbledore and his parents had told him time and time again. 

Harry remained at corridor for minutes, even after James had left. Pressing his lips, he fought the turmoil of feelings he felt. He’d go to the library as soon as classes had finished. Focus on his homework rather than think about James and the stares that had been following him around.

“You have old eyes, boy.”

Harry turned with shock, only to find the portrait of the old Witch staring at him with narrowed eyes. Her voice was wheezy, as if she had difficulty speaking even from within the painting. She seemed curious, though. Interested in something that Harry could neither see nor understand.

He felt confused. “I’m sorry, what?” he asked, trying to keep his voice flat. It wouldn’t do to lose control of himself after his fight with James, even if it was just a portrait that was talking with him. He didn’t want to.

“Old, boy. Your eyes look old — but don’t think you’re the first to suffer from something like that. I had a sister that did to, once. A very long time ago.”

Harry frowned. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

The Witch laughed at this, though it wasn’t a pleasant sound. It was too tremulous and croaky. Too brief and close to cackle to be filled with any honest joy.

She smirked. “If you say so,” she said, once her laughter had stopped. “I had a sister once, much like you. With old, haunted eyes even in her youth.”

The woman quickly continued, shifting only slightly in her portrait to a sitting position. Sadness clouded over her features. “She was kidnapped when I was fifteen. Never to be seen again. It’s a dangerous business, to be gifted with the sight.”

Harry frowned and pressed his lips together. His heart thrummed inside his chest. “She was a Seer?” he asked, curious.

The old Witch nodded. Her expression hardened, closing up. “Hardly any good at all, but just enough. Just enough.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry muttered, not quite knowing what else to say. There was no real reason to apologize to the portrait of a dead person, though it seemed like the right thing to do.

“Your brother is right, boy — a Seer must always be protected.”

Harry’s face twisted. The Witch didn’t seem to expect Harry to answer, however, and quickly continued talking. Her expression as hard as it seemed saddened.

“People will always want to use you, and you’ll never be able to trust anyone as a result. Not fully,” she continued. Her voice was tight now, deadly serious.

Harry’s brows snapped together. “No one else, forever?” he said, very nearly lashing out. “I have a duty to act — I can’t simply sit and watch.”

The woman smiled grimly. “It is cruel to be made privy to the whims of the moires, boy. More so than you can even imagine. An honour, no doubt, but one I am glad I never inherited myself.”

Harry’s eyes widened. The woman laughed again, seemingly amused by his expression.

“It really is a mournful thing, boy, to have such old eyes,” she said. Her mouth twisted, corners tilting slightly upwards, and Harry was left momentarily dumbfounded by how cruel her words had seemed to sound.

“Your brother was right, boy. You can only hope that you’ll be able to protect yourself, now.”

Harry dashed away from the portrait. His heart beating fast inside his chest as his mind reeled. The sense of murky horror grew, and Harry found himself clenching the pendant his great aunt and uncle had gifted him before his return to Hogwarts. Ignoring the way the silver snake and staff dug into the palm of his hand. 

He didn’t speak with James at all throughout the rest of the day. When they still hadn’t, two days later, he couldn’t quite bring himself to approach him. Regardless of how painful the distance felt.

Neither could James.

 

* * *

 

The knockback jinx sent Harry crashing against the wall. His schoolbag crashed onto the floor; its contents — books, parchment, quills, and ink — violently scattering around him. Barely-muffled laughs followed, Gudgeon’s boisterous and grating own amongst them, along with the telltale sound of several hasty steps. Harry stood up slowly, tasting the blood in his mouth, and grimaced. His nose and mouth hurt, though not enough to seem broken. 

Harry crouched, scowling at the ugly sight that now were his school supplies. His inkwell had broken, its black ink spilling over the copy of _‘Divination Around the World, Volume IV’_ he had found at home and seeping into some of its pages. The rest — the majority — had scattered across the stone floor.

At least his quills and classmates hadn’t been damaged.

Harry sighed, and resolved to gather his things as quickly as possible and before the spilled ink could to too much damage. Grabbing his bag, he reached for the books and parchment closest to him.

It was strange how quickly things could change.

The week following his confrontation with James had shown just that, with nothing but unpleasantness following regardless of Harry’s good intentions. The change immediately noticeable by comparison to how he had been treated during the first term. Even within his own house.

The Ravenclaw’s laugh had been like a roar, bewildering in its intensity and depth. Spreading like wildfire to the rest of his classmates and even a few Slytherins. Leaving Harry — though in retrospect less so — in shock whilst his friends stared in perplexity. Davey Gudgeon hadn’t believed a word of what he had said, and, in turn, neither had the rest of his classmates. Harry’s attempt to help and indicate the danger the boy was in leading only to a particularly humiliating form of mockery as soon as word had gotten out.

He had never known that embarrassment could run as deep as it did, particularly once James reacted to the chorus of laughter by dragging Harry away from the Transfiguration classroom. Any attempt to understand the pain that divided Harry abandoned in favour of a sharp ‘what were you thinking’ made worse by his refusal to  listen. Going further on to follow up on the dare to touch the Whomping Willow together with Black the very next day. Regardless of their previous fight and all of Harry’s advice.

The week had been strange after that. Whispers and mutters had followed Harry wherever he went. Curiosity and confusion morphing into tones of condescension as soon as the story had spread throughout the school. Open mockery had quickly followed, together with a perceived change of status, even within his own house. Particularly within his own house. Evolving and changing from his being a ‘strangely sorted’ Potter into variants of madness or stupidity. Loony. Potty.

This, then — the jinx — had followed as a natural result. Along with more the longer the situation continued.

He hadn’t expected any of it, though, perhaps, he should have.

 _‘Potty’_ , that’s what he was now. A title the rest of the school had quickly gotten wind of, somehow, after Rosier had quickly coined it at the Slytherin common room. The word succeeding in tainting and besmirching the certainty Harry had had about warning Davey Gudgeon. Polluting and muddying the courage he had felt into something stupid and reckless, rather than of any value. Changing it into something disgraceful that his parents hadn’t hesitated in pointing out in the letters they had sent since. Their disbelief and disappointment made starkly clear despite the _effort_ Harry had attempted to go into during the holidays to make them understand. To make them proud. 

They had made their thoughts perfectly clear in their meeting with Dumbledore, however. As had, even, the Headmaster himself.

He had never seen them as disappointed as they had then, even if they hadn’t asked his reasons for having done had he had done. No, it had been deeper than that. Similar in a way to the terror he had seen on his parent’s faces when the news of the Muggle-targeted attack had been published by the Daily Prophet on the 27th of December. Thus, question after question on what he had been thinking had followed, along with worried comments about what the impact of his actions would be. About the danger he had put himself and his brother in. About the speed with which rumours spread and their impact.

Dumbledore had mediated throughout, to a degree. The contrast between the warm glimmer in his eyes and the worry in his words having been confusing to witness on the Headmaster.

 _‘It is a grim fact, but once upon a time, Harry, as your parents have no doubt told you, those with the sight used to be hunted down and blinded. For darkness has always been found to increase the gift Seers only have.’_

_‘I understand your worry about your classmate, and I can promise you that I am doing everything in my power to protect him from what you saw. However, there are things you still don’t understand, Harry. There are more things occurring around us, as the attack on Christmas shows, that are—’_

Yet, despite all of this, Harry knew for a fact that students were still approaching the dangerous tree regardless of the teacher’s attention on it. He had seen it, after all, and everything which he saw in dreams had always come to pass. Even the majority of Slytherins now had ended up being interested in going through with the dares to touch the Whomping Willow’s trunk — Thorfinn Rowle had done so just yesterday — and even James had too, together with Black. Out of spite after the disaster that had been their last conversation.

_‘Trust me, Harry. Trust us. I understand that it’s hard, but with time you’ll come to understand the reasons your parents and I have for…’_

That hadn’t stopped Bricius Stebbins from dying, however. His death made perhaps worse by the way it had been covered up — Avery’s father likely knew what he was talking about, after all.

Then there were the words of advice Professor Riddle had given him since the beginning of the year. The story of Icarus and the power of knowledge on one’s actions. The allegory he had told through that poem about a Duke made out of stone who both didn’t see nor act on the problems of the city. He had his own reading and knowledge on Divination to rely on, too, as well as the quote his great-aunt and uncle had showed him. Which, even if brief, seemed to point at a completely different direction. As did most of  the knowledge that the ancient Wizarding communities of Greece and its Seers had given to the world, with none other than the Oracle of Delphi spearheading the message.

Indicate, rather than conceal. Give a sign, rather than reveal things outright.

It had all gone wrong. He had been reckless — too carefree and obstinate in _what_ he had said and _how_ he had said it.

None of that had mattered in the end, however. Not to his parents or to Professor Dumbledore. Instead they had decided to tell him off for his actions without answering his concerns. Telling him what to do and how to behave without explaining to him _why_. All under the impression that he was still too young to understand despite the fact he could see too many of the events happening around him. See more than anyone. And if he couldn’t understand what was going on, how could he ever hope to do good? Rationalise his dreams and _overcome_ them along with his gift? 

Harry gritted his teeth as he continued gathering his things, not quite managing to control the anger and powerlessness he felt.

The ink had run over the floor quickly, further staining some of the blank parchment he usually made sure to carry with him. With this in mind, he picked up the last book on the floor — the fourth volume of ‘Divination Around the World’ — and examined it. Leaving the broken inkwell, for now, on the floor. The ink had seeped into the pages, leaving most of them completely stained. The text within left mostly unreadable.

He clenched his fists, nails very nearly digging into the book’s cover. A scourgify would likely do a good job of cleaning it, but…

Harry closed his eyes. Tears were starting to well up, and he wasn’t completely sure he could stop them. His voice trembled. “Just what am I supposed to do?” he asked.

What could he do? None of the students believed him, and their behavior towards him wouldn’t change until they did. How they’d treat him once they did was, in turn, another mystery. No, his warning had fallen victim to the incredulity of others, and even if James wasn’t ignoring him there was little that his twin could do. Dumbledore then, though disappointed, had promised to keep a watchful eye on the Whomping Willow and take precautions. Yet—.

Harry clenched his hands despite the tears welling up, and felt his nails virtually dig into the cover of ‘ _Divination Around the World’._ He was shaking, still feeling too broken about the horrendous week to really be able to think. Too angry too, to be able to do so. At himself, for his mistaken approach and recklessness. At James, for not understanding regardless of his worries. At the other students, who had only cared enough to laugh. At Gudgeon himself, for not taking anything seriously.

He felt despondent. Impotent.

What _could_ he do if he didn’t want to simply be a passive observer? Gudgeon’s behavior certainly hadn’t made him any dearer to Harry — on the contrary — but leaving him to his fate seemed cruel. Too monstrous to consider.

He was a grating pest who hadn’t ceased to laugh at him throughout the week, but he was still just a boy his age. Undeserving of the pain he had seen. Of the loud cracks which would fill the air as the Whomping Willow’s branches smashed — would smash — on his torso. Shattered bone, too white under the light as it broke through his—

No. He disliked the boy. Hated him, even, after how he had wounded up treating him. But condemning him to the pain he had seen seemed too cruel. He wanted to help people, not doom them. He was gifted with the sight. He was Seer — he knew that more than enough through his parent’s warnings, no matter what they had said at Professor Dumbledore’s office — and that meant he _had_ to act. Somehow. Guide in whatever way he could.

Could he, however? There was no reason not to attempt to, considering he had already doomed himself to being discovered as a Seer by everyone. He couldn’t let the same thing that had happened with Bricius Stebbins happen again. 

What, really _could_ he do, short of tracking Gudgeon around, or monitoring the Whomping Willow?

Harry took a deep breath and willed himself to stop shaking. He opened his eyes and looked back at the stained book. Maybe the damage wasn’t that bad, in the end. He could still go on — work with the facts of the situation. He had already failed at warning Gudgeon once, but that didn’t mean he was fully powerless. If monitoring the Whomping Willow was what it took to prevent Gudgeon’s death, so it would be. It had nothing to do with what his parents and Professor Dumbledore had said. With his brother’s worry and incomprehension. Regardless of all of that, there was nothing he could do about his situation, as much as the treatment of the other students pained him.

Harry quickly found himself sobering up. He set his jaw, straightening his back. He had to harden himself and be strong — who’d be if he wasn’t, after all? If he didn’t fight for himself? 

Harry glanced around the floor, picked up his last quill and quickly placed it together with the rest of his books and parchment in his bag. Nothing else remained on the floor. He glanced around — the corridor was empty, without any students or prefects in sight — and took out his wand. He pointed his wand at ‘ _Divination Around the World, Volume IV’_ , making sure to open the book.

He flicked his wand. “Scourgify.” The black ink vanished, as if it had never been there. Harry smiled, and placed it inside his bag.

By the time his classes finished, he went to the hill on which the Whomping Willow had been planted. Resolving to sit and read there despite the constant noise and whispers. He could keep studying scrying there. Even work through much of the classwork they had been set.

It was surprisingly pleasant, despite the muffled noise and cold.

 

* * *

 

His great aunt and uncle’s eagle-owl swept in first thing in the morning with a certain grace despite its large size. Landing before him — very nearly on top of plate on which Harry had been piling his breakfast — it stretched its neck forward, urging Harry to pick the letter on its beak. Harry took the letter and quickly offered a piece of bacon to the bird. Taking no small amount of pride in the fact that the previously strong-willed bird had warmed up to him as much as it had. The owl ate the bacon quickly. Combing its head with its claws as soon as he had finished. 

Around Harry, the Great Hall bustled with activity.

It was morning, though earlier than the times Harry had taken to arriving at the massive hall. The four tables were half empty, and though some like more filled than the rest, not even half of the student population had made it to breakfast again. A necessary decision — whispers and snickers had been following Harry around ever since he had attempted to warn Gudgeon days ago.

With his dorm mates were still nowhere to be seen in the Great Hall, Harry had found himself sitting alone in the area they usually occupied together. A small mercy, considering the little amount of talk he had initiated over the last days. The stares from the people at his house and the way his brother had taken to avoiding him still feeling too recent. Too shameful and strange for him to be able to gather the courage necessary to ask his friends what they thought.

Thoughts and worries raged wild inside his head — were they as ashamed and bewildered about what he had done as the rest? It didn’t seem like they did. They had neither stared at him nor laughed like the other students. Instead even going as far as defending him whenever possible from the other students their age — particularly Severus.

No, Severus hadn’t been happy about Harry’s silence and near-avoidance. His expression instead seeming to have become a near-constant scowl. He wanted to talk to him, Harry knew. Ask about what exactly had happened. Whether what Harry had said to Gudgeon before that Transfiguration class had been true or not. It was obvious that Mulciber and Avery were curious too, though they hadn’t been obvious about it. Choosing instead, it seemed, to allow him his space. Avoiding the topic whenever Harry wasn’t at the library as soon as it had become clear Harry wouldn’t mention it.

Harry could barely muster the courage to sit at the Great Hall as it was. Let alone tackle and address the elephant in the room. Not with the stares and whispers, not with the quiet laughs. Not with the way Rosier and others had taken to mocking him, and his brother avoided him.

Harry looked down and opened the letter, taking the paper contained inside. His mouth curved into a smile at the sight of Charlus’ familiar scrip and the familiar greeting. 

 

‘ _Dear Nephew,_

_Having come to just learn from your father about what—'_

 

Harry started to read the letter, feeling himself tear up, if only slightly. Distractedly, he petted the large eagle-owl on its head, ruffling some of its feathers. The memory of the words the strange Witch in that painting had told him after his fight with James flashed through his mind. This time, however, unaccompanied by the murky sense of horror he had felt then and every since. 

Truth be told, he hadn’t expected a letter from his great-uncle and aunt. He was worried — had been, at the King’s Cross, too — and it was obvious. Despite that, however, the letter’s tone was completely different from the less pleasant one he had received from his parents days before. He missed talking with them. Missed how easygoing and relaxing the days he had spent at their house during the Yule holidays had been. 

 

_'Now, Harry. I understand much of my brother’s worry, particularly with the most recent attacks. Like you already know, certain longstanding problems have yet to be tackled. Let alone resolved. Regardless, don’t forget that no matter how dark things may seem, there is always a way out of the problems we encounter. That, whilst it is no doubt important for you to be careful and avoid being used by other people — whomever they might be — wishing to help others isn’t the end. There is little to be gained from blaming oneself._

_Every problem has far more depth and complexity than the simple summaries we often see, and things are often more complicated than what they may seem. Like I said at the station, Harry, you aren’t meant to bear the weight of of the world on your shoulders. Your gift is undoubtedly important and useful. However, it isn’t something which you are meant or condemned to bear alone. Curiosity isn’t a crime, and neither are good intentions or the will to help. On the contrary, Harry. Whilst it can no doubt be dangerous to reveal the full truth about one’s own gifts, so it can be to maintain lies. That is, to self-abdicate to those whom one lies to. Opening up deadly weaknesses in the form of the necessity of maintaining high levels of secrecy to all._

_You’ll soon have to find that care must be taken of guarding one’s reputation and conceal their intentions. It is deadly to not do so — a fact that your aunt Dorea once learnt at Hogwarts at a high cost. However, so can it be to prevent oneself from acting in the open and take away opportunities. You’ll find too, however, that — as it will likely come to happen soon — your discover as a Seer, though inconvenient in some ways, will also open up to you a number of opportunities._

_At risk of making this letter run for too long, I just wanted to remind you that if you ever need advice or help, that you can always come to Dorea and I. Above anything, you are family. Particularly considering the difficult moments you are likely facing at the moment._

_Now, putting this behind, both Dorea and I wanted to ask you about whether you enjoyed the books you bought at Diagon Alley with us during the Yule holidays. As you know, we both have a number of books at the library and our home, and would like to offer—.'_

 

Harry smiled. In front of him the owl bobbed its head to the left, and started preening its feathers. Remembering his holiday studying of scrying, he immediately set to writing his aunt and uncle back. If anyone could help him get a recipient useful for setting up a basin with which to practice water scrying, it was them.

 

* * *

 

“Asphodel — from the Greek _asphodelos_ — or Royal Staff, is a member of the lily family. As you can observe from the plants in front of you, it has distinctively long and slender leaves. Found worldwide, its powdered root is often used in—”

Professor Sprout’s voice ringed in monotone cadences, orotund and flat. It was loud, filling the entire greenhouse. Mixing in with the humid and heavy hot air within the glass encasings for the delicate plants within. It sounded matter-of-factly and slightly high-pitched, with a certain nasal component to it that proved slightly distracting and grating.

Around Harry the class seemed concentrated, or at least the majority of it. Avery was quickly jotting down notes in his parchment, his handwriting somewhere between a scrawl and an elegant script. Severus was doing much of the same, his, however, looking far neater. Straight lines and elegant script mixing in with quickly drawn diagrams of the plant they’d be studying today. Stebbins was staring away at the plant, expression scrounged up and unreadable. Mulciber was fully gone, and instead was tapping his quill rhythmically against the table. The whiteness of the parchment glaringly contrasting with the few hastily-written notes at the top of the page.

— _Tap tap tap_ — it went — _tap tap tap_.

The Hufflepuffs on the other side of the room proved much of the same. Most of them seemed to be following along Professor Sprout’s lesson, filling the greenhouse with the additional sound of the scratching of quills against paper. It didn’t stop the rest, however, and the _tap tap tap_ of Mulciber’s quill against the table was accompanied by the hushed giggles of three first year Slytherin girls. Some of the Hufflepuffs indiscreetly glanced at Harry every few seconds — after every giggle — before immediately looking back at the professor as if scalded. A scrunched up note — passed or thrown — immediately following. Professor Sprout, back turned towards the class as she observed the blackboard, woefully unknowing as she continued her lecture. 

“—as stated by Arsenius Jigger in Magical Drafts and Potions. Additionally being used in the Wiggenweld Potion, as well for a multitude of other magical and non-magical uses. Though commonly found, cultivation requires certain specific conditions—”

The _tap tap tap_ continued. A note, neatly folded, floated across the room into the hands of a Hufflepuff boy. Two Slytherin girls glanced quickly back at Harry and giggled. Another girl — a Hufflepuff — glanced at him with an incredulous look, brows furrowed. Then — _tap tap tap_.

Harry’s grip on his quill strengthened, class now practically completely forgotten. He couldn’t help but grit his teeth at the very memory of it. It had been four by the time he had managed to leave the Headmaster’s office, that day, and ever since then…

 _—Tap tap tap._ The Slytherin girls whispered again, this time slightly louder than before. 

_Potty_ , that’s what he was. Ridiculous and stupid despite his position as one of the best students in his classes — a thought clear in the eyes of virtually everyone he saw. Even Lily had taken to looking at him with pity, and Merlin, the whispers and giggles he even got at the library—

Harry bit his lip, and forced himself to look up at the Professor. What was she talking about? He had completely lost track of where the lesson had been heading, and now he couldn’t manage to catch up to what she had been saying. She was still talking about asphodel, that he could tell. However, she didn’t seem to be paying attention to the plant in specific at the moment. Harry frowned, and focused on the blackboard. He needed to catch up again to the class. The diagrams, however, were still the same. The only distinguishing thing about the board being the additional columns of information that had been drawn up.

 _—Tap tap tap._ The Hufflepuff girl glanced at him again, brows as furrowed s they had before. Harry didn’t know her name.

Harry groaned, and hung his head half in embarrassment and frustration. He couldn’t concentrate. He glanced quickly at his dorm mates, but quickly looked away. He hadn’t dared to talk to them about what had happened, truth be told. Not with the way things had been going over the last two weeks, and not when students had been looking at him like—, like—

_—Tap tap tap._

At the front of the class, ignorant to his inner plight, Professor Sprout continued explaining the properties and uses of asphodel. How to recognize signs of quality in the plant, the method to powder the roots best, cultivation methods to ensure the highest quality possible… Harry clenched his hands around his quill and hung his head lower.

A worried voice made itself known from his left, soft spoken and flat — Severus. “Harry?”

_—Tap tap tap._

Harry’s eyes shot up abruptly, focusing on his dorm mate and friend. He shouldn’t have felt as surprised as he was.

His black eyes set on Harry’s own green ones. He was mostly straight-faced, expression very nearly fully neutral. His eyebrows, however, were furrowed slightly, and his lips pressed together. He was worried.

“Are you okay?” the black-haired boy asked, this time in a quieter voice. 

Harry nodded slowly. He didn’t feel alright, truth be told, but he didn’t quite know what to say. “I was distracted, sorry,” he whispered. “I—” he muttered, struggling to find the words. He didn’t know what to say. Not when he had been half-avoiding his friends, not daring to mention what had happened.

Severus’ frown deepened, and he looked down, to scan the parchment Harry had been attempting to write on. His eyes looked alert. Understanding.

“You can borrow my notes for the class later, if you want,” he offered. His voice sounded lighthearted, but his worried expression didn’t change. He was still worried.

It took Harry a moment to reply. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I think I’ll do that, if it’s alright.”

Severus nodded, but said nothing. He was hesitating, by the looks of it. When he didn’t immediately say anything Harry turned to look at Professor Sprout again. She was demonstrating how to cut and grind correctly the asphodel roots — no doubt last task for the class — and surely enough, soon they were doing just that.

Harry got up from his chair and followed the other students towards the area where Professor Sprout had laid out the plants they were to practice cutting and grinding. Severus followed behind, the both of them near the back of the queue. By the time they were both returning with a potted plant each, the rest of the students had already started practicing cutting the roots. A disaster-in-waiting for some of the worse students in the class — someone was bound to accidentally cut one of their fingers off. Mulciber certainly was at risk, judging by the way he was holding his knife.

One of the Hufflepuff boys on the other side of the class crumpled a piece of paper — a note — and threw it. It missed Harry by inches, and instead fell on the floor unnoticed.

Harry sat down on his seat and cleared out his desk space, moving away the parchment he hadn’t quite used, and deposited the potted asphodel. He quickly started to work on uprooting it. It would take a bit longer than he’d like, though. He still hadn’t gotten completely the hang of doing so in Herbology.

He was almost done with the admittedly dirty task when Avery glanced back at them. His eyes meeting Severus’ silently, wordlessly attempting to say something.

Harry pulled out the plant — roots included and intact — and grabbed hold of his knife. The silvery surface glistened under the surprisingly bright sunlight of the early morning. Just like it had when he had bought it together with James, all those months ago.

Harry gulped. His throat feeling inexplicably dry at the memory.

James.

 _James_.

He brought the knife down, separating the stem from the roots. The cut was easy to make, and the long thin roots were soon ready to work on. Besides him, however, Severus hadn’t started yet the initial cuts to separate the stem from the roots. A fact that made Harry quickly look up at his dorm mate, surprised. It wasn’t normal, to see Severus distracted. Not in class.

Their eyes met. “Sev?” Harry asked. He was still frowning.

“Harry…” he muttered, seemingly searching for words. He glanced quickly at Avery, who seemed concentrated in cutting up the asphodel roots. Besides him, Mulciber was attempting the very same thing. The knife’s sharp edge dangerously close to his thumb as he cut up a part of the stem.

Snape glanced up at the front of the class. Professor Sprout was starting to talk and look over the work of the students at the front. He grabbed his knife. Harry looked at him, waiting for him to continue.

“Avery, Mulciber, and I were talking before class,” the black-haired boy finally said. He cut cleanly through the stem, and swiftly pushed it away. “You know you can trust us, right?” 

Harry’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth to answer, but Snape quickly continued talking.

“We noticed, or at least Avery and I did. The rumors, what happened, doesn’t change a thing.” He sounded completely serious. As serious as he always was.

Harry frowned and bit his lower lip. With the way the last weeks had been going and people had been treating him…

“Half the school has been talking about me. Laughing,” he stated. Gudgeon certainly hadn’t shut up about it, and all of Slytherin ought to know by now how quickly Evan Rosier had picked up on the entire thing. His heart was racing, and he couldn’t muster up the ability to feel calm. He just didn’t know how to talk about what had happened with his friends. How to _explain_. With what his parents and Dumbledore had told him, how could he?

Half of the student body was laughing and gossiping at him, but even then, if he talked and _confirmed_ anything…

Severus shook his head and looked back at him. Harry glanced down quickly in return, and focused again on his plant. He gripped his knife stronger and resumed cutting up the roots.

“We didn’t know what to think, but Mulciber thought — you know how he is, keeping up with students — that…” Severus quickly said before coming to an abrupt end.

He frowned deeper and set his eyes on Harry. He got closer, and lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. “We haven’t known each other for very long, but you were completely serious when warning that Ravenclaw, weren’t you?”

Harry’s eyes widened. “You believe me?” he asked, incredulous. Did he — they — really do? “You don’t think I made it up, or that I’m insane?”

Severus nodded slowly. In front of him, Avery though still cutting the roots, slowed down. Mulciber cut his thumb, and grimaced.

“You aren’t the type of person to make something up for attention. Not like that,” Severus continued, voice barely audible. “Mulciber thought, too, that you were completely serious at the time.”

“You _know_ something is going to happen to that boy, don’t you, Harry?”

Harry was dumbfounded. He opened and closed his mouth several times, unsure of what he could say. He finally nodded after a few seconds. The knife fell from his hand. 

They _knew_. Someone besides James or his parents now _knew_. What would they say once they knew?

How many people _would_ come to know?

Harry grimaced. He wanted to do something, but if what his parents had said was true…

Snape observed him in silence, his face a mask. In front of him Avery had stopped cutting up his roots, and Mulciber seemed to have given up attempting it after he had accidentally cut his thumb. They didn’t turn towards them, however, though they must have been aware — even if only to a degree — about what they were talking.

They only continued talking once the class had finished and they started making their way to the History of Magic class, at the fifth floor. Harry packed his things quickly and went out of the greenhouse. His friends — all except Stebbins — following in tow. As they walked, some of the people within the paintings glanced down at Harry, whispering amongst themselves. 

Three of the Slytherin girls, the same ones who had been giggling throughout the class, rushed through the corridor. One glanced at Harry as they overtook them, sneering and lowering her eyes as she ran. Stebbins and two other girls were walking slower, practically still within the greenhouse.

Harry’s mind was reeling. His heart beating frantically. As his friends caught up with him, Harry felt his heart freeze.

He had known that people would discover what he was after what he had done, but with the laughter and insults directed at him he hadn’t truly _expected_ it.

Severus looked as serious and grave as he had before, though this time he could tell that Avery did too. The brown-haired boy’s face was fully composed, giving nothing away. Besides him, Mulciber’s wasn’t nearly as composed — something admittedly normal in the dark haired boy. He seemed curious. Surprised. Strangely unbothered by the dried blood on his thumb.

Harry swore he saw his eyes glisten with something akin to excitement. “You’re a seer, aren’t you, Harry?” he said. The words seemed momentous.

Harry’s eyebrows rose up a notch, his mouth dropping open slightly. They really did know. “How could you tell?” he asked. “I never said anything.”

The corners of Mulciber’s mouth turned upwards. “You looked too serious when you practically shouted that at Davey Gudgeon. It wouldn’t be in your nature to make up something like that. There was no reason to.” 

“So you really are, then?” Avery asked. “I’ll admit I thought that outburst strange — seemed like a ridiculous thing to say — but Severus…”

Harry only managed to nod, not quite knowing what to say.

“I was the one that pieced it together, Avery. You didn’t believe any of it first,” Mulciber interrupted. He glanced at the other Slytherin with a prideful smirk, before quickly focusing again on Harry. “Did you really meant what you said, then? That Gudgeon would be killed by the Whomping Willow?” 

The dream flashed through Harry’s mind. He nodded, throat feeling unexpectedly dry. “Yes. It hasn’t happened yet, but it will. Soon, once spring comes,” he explained, voice flat. There was a certain strangeness about talking so openly about one of his dreams. He couldn’t bring himself to say more.

Mulciber’s eyebrows rose. “Is that why your brother has been ignoring you all week?”

Harry hung his head and looked at the floor, mouth setting into a hard line even as he felt his eyes well up slightly. He wrinkled his nose. “Only partly,” he admitted.

Mulciber nodded, but didn’t press the issue. Neither did the other two.

It was amazing to think about how little contact he had had with James lately, particularly with how close they had been before. He had been with his twin all the time, before. Trusted him with everything — as had he.

“It must be an amazing thing to be able to have, though—” Mulciber quickly added. “To be able to _know_ what’s coming. To _see_. I wish I was able to. The amount of legends and stories about Seers and prophecies in history alone—”

Harry pursed his lip. “It’s not that clean-cut,” he mumbled. It wasn’t. Definitely hadn’t, at least, lately. “I sometimes think I see too much. I knew about the death of Stebbins’ father before anything happened. Saw it happen. The other things…” he finished, voice trailing off.

They came to a sudden stop at his words, seeming shocked. Eyebrows raised and eyes widened far beyond anything Harry had ever seen of them.

“You knew about it?” Avery asked, curiosity laced clearly into his voice.

Harry nodded. “He was killed by Aurors near Diagon Alley. It wasn’t… I wish I could have done something about it.”

Mulciber frowned. “Why didn’t you?” he asked. “It should be simple, right?”

Harry shook his head. “I tried. Dumbledore tried, but it came to happen nonetheless, regardless.”

“What if you had told Stebbins?” Avery barged in, clearly interested in the idea. “Maybe that would have changed something.”

It was a good question — one that Harry had already asked himself. The memory didn’t sit well with him, though. He had had to keep it a secret, and even then…

_‘The oracle neither conceals, nor reveals, but indicates’_

“I don’t know,” Harry muttered. “I had to keep it a secret, else…” A thought suddenly struck Harry. “Does Stebbins know?” he asked, voice almost a whisper.

He didn’t know what he’d do if the other boy learnt that he had seen his father’s death before it had happened. Would he consider him guilty for not warning him — responsible by virtue of his knowledge? 

Avery visibly flinched — a rare sight for the otherwise formal Pureblood boy. “Stebbins didn’t take to the idea well. At least when we were discussing it,” he started to explain. “He thinks you knew something about it.”

Harry paled.

“I can understand why you kept it a secret and didn’t talk about it, even to us,” Severus said pensively, after a few moments of silence. “Seers are rare at best. If what you have is real it is the kind of thing that would put you at risk.” 

Harry nodded, and found himself frowning slightly despite feeling relieved. He turned to look at Snape, his mouth curving into a smile. Worries momentarily forgotten.

“I suppose I’d agree with you there, Sev,” Avery soon added. “Even when it comes to minor skills and abilities, Wizards tend to remain silent about what they can really do. Unless it can’t be helped, and even then.”

Mulciber didn’t look so sure, but he didn’t say anything. He still looked curious, however. His expression open, if a bit quizzical.

“Why did you tell Gudgeon like that?” he finally asked. “It seemed like an impulsive thing to do. Gryffindor-like. You could have been more discreet, or warned him in a way that didn’t result in…”

Harry shook his head. “What I saw… I just couldn’t take it anymore. James is now distant at best — you’ve seen it — and with the things I see in dreams… I couldn’t bear the thought of the same thing happening again. Not after what happened to Stebbins’ father.” 

Mulciber nodded. “It’s a shame he didn’t believe you, then.”

“You can’t fault him. You were too impulsive, Harry,” Avery said matter-of-factly. “You have no reputation as a Seer, and people have been gossiping since as a result. You looked like a Gryffindor.”

Harry looked down. His brother had said as much too, all those days ago. If more harshly. As had his family. He had been too impulsive, though that didn’t mean he had changed his mind. He couldn’t stay silent and do nothing, however. He couldn’t bear to. 

They continued walking in silence, and soon reached the set of moving stairs that would take them to the fifth floor. These ones, Harry had learnt, were slightly untrustworthy despite their more gradual incline. Particularly when compared to the longer route to their History of Magic class.

It didn’t take them long to reach the top and soon they were marching on through a long corridor with open widows at its left.

“Aren’t you angry I didn’t tell you?” Harry finally asked. He hadn’t even considered doing so, only going as far as to discreetly ask Professor Riddle.

Severus was the first to shake his head. When Avery and Mulciber followed after him, Harry couldn’t help feeling surprised.

“I can understand why you did it,” Severus said, repeating his earlier words.

Avery nodded. “It is something that’s expected. I can’t fault you for that — it was the intelligent thing to do. Even if I’m curious about the details.”

“Exactly,” Mulciber agreed, not adding anything else. “Though I’m curious about exactly _how_ much of a Seer you are, Harry.”

They turned left, and the classroom finally came into view. A few students were walking into it unenthusiastically. Close to the classroom’s door, about to enter it, was Davey Gudgeon. He was talking boisterously with another Ravenclaw boy. His close-set eyes wide as his heavy eyebrows rose high up into his forehead. He seemed to spot Harry at a distance, and quickly glowered in his direction. Lips twisting into a mocking smirk.

Harry grimaced, practically hearing the insulting name already. _‘Potty_ ’

“You know, Harry,” Avery muttered after a few seconds, capturing and shifting Harry’s attention away from the grating Ravenclaw boy. “I can’t help but wonder why, if your parents and Dumbledore knew, the news of the death of Stebbins’ father appeared on the news.” 

Harry frowned. He couldn’t quite grasp at what Avery meant, though he had an inkling. “How come?”

Avery shook his head. “My father couldn’t stop talking about it throughout Christmas. Something important must have happened, because he mentioned it to Professor Riddle at one of the balls as quietly as he could.”

Harry glanced at him. There had been something strange about the event, though his dorm mate didn’t seem to know. Stebbins’ father had been carrying something which had later been taken from him — a bag. The box within it turning out to be in his parent’s possession during the Yule holidays.

A cup with two handles, small and made out of gold. A badger prominently engraved at its centre. That’s what had been inside the bag.

“What I mean is — I’m not surprised he knew, my father has enough contacts to learn just about everything that happens thanks to his job,” Avery continued. “The fact that the murder still didn’t make it to the Daily Prophet, despite how the both of your parents and Dumbledore knew. Now, that’s interesting.”

Harry’s eyes widened. Besides them Mulciber and Severus were silent, paying attention to Avery’s words with undeniable interest.

“I don’t mean to say that I know everything. I’m probably wrong, but the murder and whatever was stolen must have been important,” Avery continued. “The fact that you told the truth to Professor Dumbledore and your parents, yet the truth of the event was still snuffed out proves it.”

“A cup,” Harry muttered absentmindedly. “A golden cup.” His thoughts were racing. “That’s what was in the box.”

Avery’s eyebrows rose, and his smirk broadened in a strange way. Harry broke into a cold sweat, though he couldn’t tell why. A chill ran through his spine.

“And isn’t that interesting?” Avery asked. His posture relaxed, and the twisted smile disappeared completely. “My father didn’t know about that. But now, you, Harry — that’s another story. The amount of things you must know… the sight, in a way, is an amazing gift.” 

They continued through the hallway in silence, soon reaching the classroom. It was still half-empty — class hadn’t started yet. Avery and Mulciber entered first, immediately going to the seats they usually used, close to the back of the class. Harry followed with Severus besides him, observing him with a worried frown.

“Are you okay, Harry?” he asked.

Harry nodded faintly, though didn’t properly answer. He turned to look at Severus.

“No matter what Mulciber asked earlier, you can’t be held guilty for the death of Stebbins’ father,” he said, after a pause. His voice was completely serious, though Harry could tell that he meant to cheer him up, even if slightly.

“That you had foreknowledge of the event doesn’t matter — your actions didn’t lead to its happening, and you can never be sure what a warning will really do,” Severus continued. “If it was something that would have happened regardless, there is no guilt at all. It was fated.”

Harry smiled. “Thank you, Sev,” he said.

Harry quickly glanced at Avery and Mulciber as he sat next to Severus on the table behind Avery and Mulciber’s. Avery’s posture looking relaxed and unburdened as he spoke in a half-joking tone of voice.

“You really need to stop fiddling with your quill like that in classes, Mulciber. It’s driving me insane.”

 

 

 

 

It was when lunchtime had almost finished that day that the Daily Prophet’s special edition came out.

It didn’t take long for students to rush to read it — curiosity and fear palpable in the air as they rushed and moved closer to those who carried a subscription to the newspaper. Harry was no exception, and inched closer to his friends who, with the exception of Stebbins, were sitting in their usual area. The latter having taken to sitting slightly apart from Harry every time he could manage to. The reason why unbeknown to Harry except for what his friends had told him after Herbology.

Mulciber, who received the newspaper daily, hadn’t taken long to untie the it from the delivery owl’s leg, and now had it fully open. Despite the fact it had been delivered as a neatly folded small rectangle it unfolded enough to cover the entire upper body of the person reading it. It was massive, even though it was comparatively thin to their daily publication.

The font used for the title was larger than their usual one, though the size of the words covering the front cover were comparatively smaller. Enough to make reading the paper from a distance a challenge. A single photograph was displayed on the cover. The picture looked gruesome in its place of prominence beneath the edition’s main heading. Morbid in how it displayed three dead bodies levitating within the atrium of the Ministry of Magic, atop the Fountain of Magical Brethren.

The golden statues of the fountain clashed with the bloated blueish skin of the three bodies in a way that could only be described as grisly. The bodies floated right beneath the glittering jets of water that came out of the wands of the wizard and witch. They had been placed there purposefully, it seemed. As some sort of mockery. The glistening jets of water trickled down the broken skin of the bodies rather than fall in their typical fashion. Staining the gold of the statues and the water beneath with a red that was deep enough to be visible in the black-and-white photograph. 

In the sky above, directly above the fountain, was the same mark Harry remembered seeing in the Daily Prophet during the holidays, as well as in his own dreams. A snake protruding out of a colossal skull like a tongue, rising higher and higher as it shone brightly in the sky. As eerily beautiful as it was terrifying.

 

_TERROR AT THE MINISTRY! (7 th February 1972)_

_by Andy Smudgley._

_Scenes of terror were seen this morning at the atrium of the Ministry when three bodies were found at the atrium. Eugenia Jenkins, Minister for Magic, quickly condemned the attack, describing it as a “vile and horrifying act of violence.” Rufus Scrimgeour, head of the Auror Office, stated that an investigation is already underway. Confirming the identity of the victims as prominent Muggleborn employees of the Department of Magical Education who only last September successfully introduced an amendment to current laws which excluded from the required curriculum various newly-identified dangerous dark spells. The confirmed presence of the same mark found at the location of previous attacks — a snake and a skull — though not commented on by the Head of the Auror Office, has raised alarms in the public, as…_

 

Harry’s attention was torn away from the article as he heard Mulciber gasp besides him. Looking up he saw Avery carrying a similar expression, as did Severus. Stebbins was frowning, having been avoiding Harry’s eyes ever since rumors about him had first spread. 

He had been sitting slightly apart from their group all throughout the day. The reason why being unknown to Harry.

“It’s getting out of control, then,” Mulciber muttered. His jaw had gone slack and he looked pale.

“It looks like they haven’t been able to do anything against whomever has been carrying out these attacks,” Avery said matter-of-factly, his voice sounding flat. He was still focusing on the article. 

Severus’ expression had hardened, his mouth twisting into a scowl. “It is bad news,” he said pensively. “Something bad is going to happen. It isn’t going to stop.”

Mulciber quickly turned towards him, nodding. “It seems like the Aurors are useless this time.” His gaze then shifted way to Avery, who quickly met his eyes.

Avery nodded slowly, lips twisting into something that was neither a scowl nor a smile. After a few seconds his eyes widened and recognized dawned on his face.

“I remember hearing about those Ministry workers, don’t you Marcus?” he asked, before quickly glancing at Stebbins, Severus, and Harry

Severus stared at the Slytherin, not seeming to understand what he meant. Neither did Mulciber. Avery glanced at the both of them quickly before turning his eyes briefly towards Harry, completely silent. He was focusing again on the newspaper as soon as he had turned, however. As if he had never quite looked away.

“You must have heard our parents talking about this over Christmas, Marcus,” Avery started saying. “They are the ones who lead the campaign for the banning of several spells in order to exclude them from education laws. I know my father was quite angry at that during the holidays.”

Harry frowned. He turned, determined to read the article on the front cover again. His eyes quickly focusing on the eerie snake-and-skull above the Ministry.

 

* * *

 

The last Saturday of the month saw Harry reading outside together with Severus. They were outside of Hogwarts, close to its courtyard. At a point where the Whomping Willow was plainly in view.

The day was sunny — a surprising thing considering how February could be — and despite the slightly cold air a comfortable atmosphere reigned outside. Though flowers hadn’t started to grow yet it was clear that they would soon. Trees wouldn’t be bare for much longer — spring was around the corner, and it wouldn’t take too long until it started to show. It was noisy — the popularity of the tree was still growing — though not enough for it to get in the way of reading. The place Harry had taken to sit down at was typically almost deserted. Close enough to the castle’s grounds to not be too far away without being close enough that it’d mean enduring the stares and whispers of other students. 

It had become a habit lately, one which had gotten increasingly pleasant ever since he had started. Particularly once Severus had taken to joining him — Harry’s reasons and motives for wanting to sit watch being understandable to the other boy. It had been years since Harry had sat for as long as he had these last weeks on the outside. Enough that he couldn’t quite remember.

He had decided to reread again one of the books on Scrying he had already previously studied — ‘Methods and Symbols in Scrying: A Complete Guide’. Which, though still seeming somewhat overcomplicated, was no more approachable after the studying he had done over the Yule Holidays. Enough that some of the its information would likely be of use when he finally had a recipient with which to practice hydromancy.

Harry wanted to attempt to create one soon — he had enough information on the method to use at last, he thought. It would be useful, undoubtedly so. Far above divination techniques such as the reading of tea leaves and closer to the uses of fire-omens. Hardly many things allowed one to explore visions of both the future and past, and of those which were available not many were apt to being learnt.

He had almost all the runes to be carved in sequences memorised.

He’d need to prepare — not many days were suitable, and of them only those with a full moon were. Beyond that, he thought he was almost fully prepared. He had the sequences memorised and most of the ingredients ready. Only the basin remained, and then…

Harry leaned back and stretched, dropping the book on his lap. It was heavy, enough to notice its pressure. Severus turned to face him, surprised by the sudden movement. He looked down and studied curiously the title.

“Scrying?” he asked. He was curious, Harry could tell. Had been for a while, most likely, whenever he had seen Harry read and study divination.

Harry looked up at his friend, meeting his black eyes. He nodded. “It is similar to reading fire-omens,” he explained. “An ancient variant of pensieves that allows one to glance into the past or future, but with little control.”

Severus frowned, looking quizzical. He quirked a brow. “Does it work?” he asked. “Can you actually see anything with divination?”

He didn’t seem too convinced, though Harry couldn’t entirely blame him. He glanced back at the book briefly.

“I’m not sure, I haven’t attempted it yet,” he murmured. He imagined it would — these things had a way of always doing so with him, though James had never been able to learn from him. “I could show you something else, if you want. Read fire-omens for you.”

Severus didn’t reply immediately. His expression seemingly stuck between mild bewilderment, confusion, and what looked like curiosity.

Harry smiled. “It’s an open offer, if you ever want to. I’ve had to study all of this before at my parents insistence.”

He had never read the flames for someone outside of his family before, though there wasn’t much point in not offering it to his friend. Not when he had guessed at the truth already. At a distance he spotted his brother and his group of friends, inching closer to the Whomping Willow — again.

 

* * *

 

He recognised the joyous and carefree laughs as soon as he heard them.

They were exactly like he remembered seeing in his dream. Five, with a mixture of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws within that Harry could recognize from his classes and dream. The names of the two girls, a Ravenclaw and a Hufflepuff, escaped him, and he couldn’t remember neither the name or surname of another boy. Only two were familiar. One, a tall blond near the front of the group, was called Adrian. The other, and perhaps the most memorable, the boy which he already had tried to warn against. Davey Gudgeon, boisterous enough that Avery had quickly taken a strong dislike to after the first meeting of the Defense Club. Close-set eyes, dark eyes, and heavy eyebrows distinctive and memorable.

Harry felt dizzy. Faint enough that he dropped his Transfiguration textbook as soon as he saw the group of first year students nearing the Whomping Willow.

He just barely managed to overhear their conversation.

“I don’t think you’ll dare, Davey,” the blond boy, Adrian, said. He grinned.

The boy Harry didn’t recognise laughed, and one of the girls immediately jumped in, following the comment the blond boy had said. “You talk big, Gudgeon, but I know you wouldn’t dare to touch the Whomping Willow. You’re just jealous of that Gryffindor — Sirius Black.”

Gudgeon immediately became flustered at the comment, and protested loudly. “Of course I will! Why would I be the first to do so anyways, I’m not like those Gryffindors.”

The girl that had just spoken smiled teasingly, as the other observed them with a smile.

“Admit it — you just wish you could have been the first to touch the Whomping Willow’s trunk, like that Potter did,” the boy Harry didn’t recognize said. He smiled wryly, “quite cowardly too, considering you kept daring Cresswell to do it.”

Adrian smirked, “cowardly of Cresswell, you mean.” He turned towards Gudgeon. “You should have insisted and brought him with us, Davey. He…”

“You know how he is, obsessing over Goblins and their culture. He didn’t want to come, and since he was at the library…”

The boy laughed, and the others quickly followed suit. Slowly, they inched closer to the tree. Expected expressions fixed on the majority of them.

Harry felt dazed, and got himself up on his feet before any of the first years continued talking. Despite the fact that his knees felt week, Harry managed to set off in a run. Mulciber and Severus, who had been sitting with him outside for most of the day, looked up at him. Too startled by Harry’s sudden action to manage to say anything. He spotted a group of Slytherins from the corner of his eyes, all of whom he knew to be in their third year. They were relatively close to the Whomping Willow, sitting in a group. He paid them no mind, focusing only on Gudgeon.

The thick smell of flowers filled the air, mixing with the somewhat heavy humidity of the black lake in a way that saturated the air and breeze all around with too many smells. The sun hung high in the sky, illuminating the area with more light than what Harry had quickly grown used to over the previous weeks.

The Whomping Willow looked oddly imposing, even from a distance. Its branches were twisted. Curved at odd angles that were barely hidden by the thin leaves growing from them. Its branches were shifting with the wind, surprisingly fast; faster than what Harry thought he remembered ever seeing. The tree’s leaves rustled loudly. It looked oddly bare when compared to the myriad of flowers on its surrounding area. Strange and nearly unnatural. Deceptively weak even as its branches moved against the wind. 

The group of first years reached the tree. The wind was picking up.

Harry kept running, heart thundering inside his chest. The group of Slytherins turned, following him with their eyes. One seemed ready to approach. 

The girl that hadn’t spoken yet, now standing to a side, smiled shyly. She was beaming, smiling straight at Gudgeon. She blushed. “I think you’d be able to, Gudgeon,” she said.

Gudgeon looked at her briefly and smiled. “I did say I could,” he announced. He turned at the others and grinned. “I’ll do it, you’ll see! I’ll touch the trunk!”

Adrian smiled daringly. “Will you?” he asked.

“Of course, Adrian! You’ll regret your words, and then you’ll have to touch it too,” Gudgeon exclaimed.

Gudgeon suddenly turned to face the Whomping Willow and started walking towards it. The other first years remained silent, too curious to say anything.

“Wait!” Harry shouted. He was close to the group, but not close enough.

Gudgeon didn’t turn to face Harry — he hadn’t heard him. Instead he continued walking, only coming to stop once he was barely a metre away from the tall tree. Its branches were moving quicker now, almost wildly. The wind having picked up enough speed that it seemed to howl. A memory of how Gudgeon had treated him after his failed warning flashed through Harry’s mind, but he ignored it. 

‘Potty.’

_‘Potty.’_

“Come on, Davey!” one of the girls shouted, egging him on. 

Gudgeon glanced back at his friends briefly, before turning again towards the Whomping Willow. He clenched his fists and shut his eyes, before taking a deep breath in. A few seconds went by before he opened them again.  

Harry’s face contorted into a scowl. He bit his lower lip. He felt weak, and even his arms felt oddly heavy. He was almost there, very nearly besides the group of first years. If he could reach in time… Get there before Gudgeon dashed forwards and beneath the tree—.

He was almost there. He had almost reached the first years, and—.

Harry’s lips drew back into a snarl that was never quite given sound. The first years very nearly jumped at his sudden appearance and turned to face him, surprise written all over their faces. Gudgeon glanced back at Harry, eyes wide with disbelief. His lips contorted into a sneer.

“Watch, Potty!” Gudgeon exclaimed. He grinned, quickly lunging forwards.

The reaction from the tree was immediate. A loud creak filled the air as the the trunk twisted on itself, the branches following its path. Gudgeon kept running forwards, nearly reaching the tree’s trunk when it suddenly came to a stop. Gudgeon pressed on. Intent on touching the willow’s trunk.

Harry froze. What should he do? Should he follow in Gudgeon and attempt to move him away? Use a spell?

Just what should he do? _Could_ he do?

The trunk twisted again, and an even louder creak filled the air. The tree flung its branches violently, seemingly attempting to bludgeon the Ravenclaw. Gudgeon grinned as he almost reached the tree’s bark, and—

Harry charged forwards. A thick branch swooshed above him as he reached Gudgeon and pushed him onto the ground. The branch crashed onto the earth besides them, it target missing from its previous spot.

Gudgeon pushed Harry away. He was angry. “What are you doing, Potter?” he shouted. He stood back up, eyes fixating on the tree trunk.

Harry got up and lunged at the other boy, again. He heard a gasp, likely from the other first years. The Slytherins at the other side of the tree got up. Rosier. Along with two friends and a Slytherin girl he couldn’t quite recognize. 

“Can’t you see it’s going to hit you?” Harry cried. How could Gudgeon be so daft so as to not be able to see that—

An even louder creak filled the air. The tree flung its branches violently at Harry, and he threw himself to a side. Only narrowly avoiding them. The Willow’s trunk twisted again. The branches raising slightly before being madly swung again.

Gudgeon planted his hand on the tree trunk. He grinned, and immediately turned towards Harry. “See?” he sneered, sounding exultant. “I knew that I—” 

A loud crack filled the air as two branches smashed Gudgeon’s torso. Shattered bone protruded from the boy’s ribcage as he was hurled towards the ground. Another louder crack followed as a branch quickly hit the Ravenclaw’s head, managing to hit the same area twice more before the body was hurled away from the tree. Landing with a loud thud on its other side, close to the group of Slytherins.

The Whomping Willow creaked again and twisted to its side. Harry dashed towards the body of the Ravenclaw, and a branch very nearly grazed his shoulder. He threw himself forwards in an attempt to avoid the dangerous tree, and fell in front of Gudgeon’s body. One of the girls Gudgeon had been with screamed something, but Harry didn’t manage to catch it. 

Harry went white. His heart froze, and he felt his blood drain from his face. His jaw slackened.

He wasn’t moving.

Gudgeon’s spine was bent at an odd angle, with something white breaking through areas of skin. Blood was seeping into the grass, on and on. The sticky red, so much more _red_ than the blood in his dream, mixing with the dirt beneath as—

A branch crashed against Harry’s right arm. He cried out and fell onto the floor. The Whomping Willow’s branch moved again, and the trunk twisted backwards.

Harry clasped at his hand in an attempt attempting to lessen the pain. He needed to move and get out of the—

The _trunk_ came crashing down, all of its branches following behind it. Harry rolled sideways. It smashed besides him, having only narrowly missing him. The tree lifted itself with a loud _creak_. Harry’s face contorted in pain. He couldn’t feel his arm.

The Whomping Willow came to a sudden _stop_ as it twisted in the air. The branches started moving, cutting through the air. Seeing the tree’s retreat, Harry he got onto his feet as best he could.

“What do you think you’re doing?” one of the nearby Slytherins snarled. Eyes wide beyond belief.

Brown hair. Grey eyes.

 _Rosier_.

When had the nearby Slytherins gotten so _close?_ Rosier was barely a single metre away from Harry as it was, and he couldn’t even remember the moment when he had stood—

The tree’s branches were flung violently again, intent on bludgeoning him away. One whirled at Harry’s left, almost hitting his other arm and just barely grazing past Rosier’s head. The Whomping Willow twisted, and its trunk started moving towards the Slytherin, branches following behind it. The third year froze in his spot. He was close to the tree. _Too close._

Harry lunged at Rosier, barely managing to dodge one of the branches that had come straight at them. His body collided with Rosier’s as the Whomping Willow’s trunk came smashing down above them. The older Slytherin yelped as Harry pushed him away from the tree. He followed behind him, nearly completely away from the trunk intent on smashing him down, when—

_Crack._

Harry cried out again and felt himself collapse onto the ground. Tears clouded his eyes as he hit the grass, sticky and warm from Gudgeon’s own blood. He wailed, quickly attempting to writhe away. His legs hurt more than they ever had before, and—

“Quick, help him out of there! Rosier, help me!” someone — a girl, by the sound of it — shouted.

Harry felt someone grab his shoulders and start dragging him away from beneath the tree. He closed eyes shut as a branch hit the ground behind him somewhere. Another sickening _crack_ filled the air, earning more screams from the people around the tree. The first years that had accompanied Davey Gudgeon there. 

“Rosier, stop just sitting there and run to get a teacher. Anyone!” the same girl shouted. “You! We still need to—”

Harry’s face contorted in pain. He could barely breathe, and couldn’t tell what was going on around him. His right arm felt wet. Sticky. He could smell iron in the air. 

He heard more shouts, though he couldn’t make out the words. His vision was going black. He could barely see. Terrified, he writhed on the floor, attempting to reach his legs with the arm that didn’t hurt if only to see—, to _feel_ if—.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments! It's fantastic to see that people have been enjoying this story so far. Apologies for how long it took to upload this chapter in the end (far, far too long). Things over the next chapters will start speeding up quite a bit before I jump forwards in time and pieces finally start falling in place.
> 
> Edit: I apologize for the (really) long time between publication of this chapter and the promised chapter 14. Writing a quick note to clarify that I haven't abandoned this story, and that I a new chapter will up in a few days.


End file.
